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* Vol.8. No. 430. Sept. 9, 1884. Annual Subscrii^tion, $30.0lSj^ 



BURNS' 



POEMS 



Entered nt the Poat Office, N. Y., as second-class matter. 
Copyrighl, 1884, by John W . Lovell Co. 



NEW YORK- 



^ . T- r. , =-, ■ T ■ - 14 6.16 V^EY STREET^" 




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LOVELL'S LIBRARY-CATALOGUE. 



1. Hyperion 20 

2. Outre-Mer 20 

'3. The Happy Boy 10 

4. Ame 10 

5. Frankenstein 10 

6. TheLast of theMohicans.20 

7. Clytie 20 

8. The Moonstone, Part 1 . 10 

9. The Moonstone, Part II. 10 

10. Oliver Twist 20 

11. The Coming Race 10 

12. Leila 10 

13. The Three Spaniards. . .20 

14. The Tricks of the Greeks. 20 

15. L'Abbe Constantin 20 

16. Freckles 20 

17. The Dark Colleen 20 

18. They were Married 10 

19. Seekers After God 20 

20. The Spanish Nun 10 

21. Green Mountain Boys.. 20 

22. Fleurette 20 

23. Second Thoughts 20 

24. The New Magdalen 20 

25. Divorce 20 

26. Life of Washington 20 

27. Social Etiquette 15 

28. Single Heart, Double 

Face 10 

29. Irene ; or, The Lonely 

Manor 20 

30. Vice Versa 20 

31. Ernest Maltravers 20 

32. The Haunted House... 10 

33. John Halifax 20 

34. 800 Leagues on the 
Amazon 10 

35. The Cryptogram 10 

36. Life of Marion 20 

37. Paul and Virginia 10 

38. A Tale of Two Cities.... 20 

39. The Hermits 20 

40. An Adventure in Thule, 
etc 10 

41. A Marriage in High Life2o 

42. Robin 20 

43. Two on a Tower 20 

44. Rasselas 10 

45. Alice ; a sequel to Er- 

nest Maltravers 20 

46. Duke of Kandos 20 

47. Baron Munchausen 10 

48. A Princess of Thule 20 

49. The Secret Despatch.. ..20 

50. Early Days of Christian- 
ity, 2 Parts, each 20 

51 . Vicar of Wakefield 10 

52. Progress and Poverty ... 20 

53. The Spy 20 

54. East Lynne 20 

55. A Strange Story 20 

56. Adam Bede, Part 1 15 

Adam Bede, Part II 15 

57. The Golden Shaft 20 

58. Portia 20 

59. Last Days of Pompeii. . .20 

60. The Two Duchesses 20 

61. Tom Brown 'sSchoolDays. 20 

62. Wooing O't, 2 Pts. each. 1 5 

63. The Vendetta 20 

64. Hypatia, Part I i S 

- Hypatia, Part II 15 



65. Selma 15 

66. Margaret and her Brides- 

. aids 20 

67. Horse Shoe Robinson, 

2 Parts, each 15 

68. Gulliver's Travels 20 

69. Amos Barton 10 

70. The Berber 20 

71. Silas Marner 10 

72. Queen of the County . . .20 

73. Life of Cromwell 15 

74. Jane Eyre 20 

75. Child's Hist'ry of Engrd.20 

76. Molly Bawn 20 

77. Pilloiie 15 

78. Phyllis 20 

79. Roniola, Part 1 15 

Romola, Part II 15 

80. Science in ShortChapters.2o 

81. Zanoni 20 

82. A Daughter of Heth 20 

83. Right and Wrong Uses of 

f the Bible 20 

S4. Night and Morning,Pt.1. 15 
NightandMorning,Pt.II 15 

85. Shandon Bells 20 

86. Monica 10 

87. Heart and Science 20 

88. The Golden Calf. ". 20 

89. The Dean's Daughter... 20 

90. Mrs. Geoffrey 20 

91. Pickwick Papers, Part 1 . 20 
Pickwick Papers, Part II. 20 

92. Airy, Fairy Lilian 20 

93. Macleod of Dare 20 

94. Tempest Tossed, Part I . ao 
Tempest Tossed, P't II. ao 

95. Letters from High Lat- 

itudes 20 

96. Gideon Fleyce 20 

97. India and Ceylon 20 

98. The Gypsy Queen 20 

99. The Admiral's Ward 20 

100. Nimport, 2 Parts, each.. 15 
loi. Harry Holbrooke 20 

102. Tritons, 2 Parts, each ..15 

103. Let Nothing You Dismay. 10 

104. LadyAudley's Secret... 20 

105. Woman's Place To-day. 20 

106. Dunallan, 2 parts, each. 15 

107. Housekeeping and Home 
making .15 

108. No New Thing 20 

109. TheSpoopendykePapers.2o 

110. False Hopes 15 

111. Labor and Capital 20 

112. Wanda, 2 parts, each ... 15 

113. More Words about Bible. 20 
X14 Monsieur Lecocq, P't. 1. 20 

Monsieur Lecocq, Pt. II . 20 

115. An Outline of Irish Hist. 10 

1 16. The Lerouge Case 20 

117. Paul Clifford. 20 

J 18. A New Lease of Life.. .20 

iig. Bourbon Lilies 20 

i2Cw Other People's Money.. 20 

121. Lady of Lyons lo 

122. Ameline de Bourg 15 

123. A Sea Queen 20 

124. The Ladies Lindores. ..20 

125. Haunted Hearts 10 

126. Loys, Lord Beresford. . .20 



146. 
147- 
148. 
149- 
150. 

151- 
152. 

153- 
153- 
154- 

155- 
156. 
157- 

158. 

159. 
160. 
161. 
162. 
163. 
164. 
.65. 
166. 

leT 
168. 
169. 
170. 
171. 
172. 

I73. 
174. 
175- 
176. 

177- 
.78. 
179. 
i8q. 
181. 
182 
183 
.84. 
185. 



Under Two Flags, Pt I. 20 
Under Two Flags, Pt II.20 

Money 10 

In Peril of His Life 20 

India; What can it teach 

us ? 2 

Jets and Flashes 20 

Moonshine and Margue- 
rites IC 

Mr. Scarborough's 
Family, 2 Parts, each ..15 

Arden 15 

Tower of Percemont 20 

Yolande 20 

Cruel London 20 

The Gilded Clique 20 

Pike County Folks 20 

Cricket on the Hearth. 10 

Henry Esmond 20 

Strange Adventures of a 

Phaeton 20 

Denis Duval 10 

OldCuriosityShop.P't I 15 
01dCuriosityShop,P'rt II. .5 

Ivanhoe, Part 1 15 

Ivanhoe, Part II 15 

White Wings 20 

The Sketch Book 20 

Catherine 10 

Janet's Repentance 10 

Bamaby Rudge, Part I.. 15 
BarnabyRudge, Part 1 1. 15 

Felix Holt : 20 

Richelieu ro 

Sunrise, Part 1 15 

Sunrise, Part II 15 

Tour of the Worid in 80 

Days ..20 

Mystery of Orcival 20 

Lovel, the Widower 10 

Romantic Adventures of 

a Milkmaid ' ro 

DavidCopperfield, Part 1. 20 
DavidCopperfield.P'rt 1 1. 20 
Charlotte Temple.- .10 
Rienzi, 2 Parts, each . . . i 

Promise of Marriage 

Faith and Unfaith ^. 

The Happy Man 10 

Barry Lyndon 2^ 

Eyre's Acquittal i 

20,000 Leagues Under the 

Sea 2r. 

Ami-Slavery Days jo 

Beauty's Daughters 20 

Beyond the Sunrise 2c 

Hard Times 2 

Tom Cringle's Log 2' 

Vanity Fair 3 

Underground Russia 2c 

Middlemarch,2 Pts each. 20 

Sir Tom 20 

Pelham 20 

The Story of Ida i 

Madcap Violet 2 

The Little Pilgrim u 

Kilmeny 2< 

Whist, or Bumblepuppy?.io 
That Beautiful Wretch.. 20 

Her Mother's Sin 20 

Green Pastures, etc 20 

Mysterious Islaad, Pt Xt^s 




QECRET 

O OF 

gEAUTY. I 

How to Beautify the Complexion. * 



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Ladies afflicted with Tan, Frecricles, Rough or Discolored Skin, should lose 
no time in procuring and applying 

LAIRD S BLOOM OF YOUTH. 

It will immediately obliterate all st»ch imperfections, and is entirely harm- 
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and pronounced entirely free from any material injurious to the health or skin. 

Over two million ladles have u«ed this delightful toilet preparation and in 
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derful efficacy. Sold by Fancy Goods Dealers and Druri^ii^ts everywhere. 
Price, 75c. per Bottle. Depot, 83 Joliii St., N. Y. 




FAIR FACES, 

And fair, in the literal and most jilfasing sense, are 
those kept frksh and pure by the use of 

OUCHAN'S CARBOLIC TOILET SOAP 

This article, which for the pa'^t fifteen years has 
had 1 he commendation of ever\ lady who uses it. is 
made from the be^t oils, combined with just the 
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carliolic aciii, and is the realization of u S*EK- 
FECT SOAP. 

It will positively keep the skin fresh, clear, and white; removing tan, 
freckles and discolorations from the skin; healing all eruptions; prevent chap- 
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Is pleasantly perfumed ; and neither when using or afterwards is the slight- 
est odor of the acid perceptible. 

BUCHAN'S CARBOLIC DEI^TAL SOAP 

CipEANS and preserves the teeth-, cools and refreshes the mouth-, ssvcetens the 
breath, and is in every way an unrivalled dental p-epaiation. 

BU^HAX'S CARKOL.IC MEDICINAL SOAP cures all 
Eruptions and Skin Diseases. 



FOR MO THERS AND DAUG HTERS. 

A Manual of Hygiene for Women and the Household. 
Illustrated. By Mrs. E. G. Cook, M.D. 

13mo, extra cloth, |1.50 

This new work has already received strong words of 
commendation from competent judges who have had the 
opportunity of examining it, as the following will show: 

Commoi-iivealtJi^ Boston .^ ?rass. 
•'This is a sensible book, written in a clear, i)!ain. yet delicate style; a book 
which ought to be ia the hands of all wo:i.e i and f^irls old cnouG:h to need i cs 
counsol. It treats of topics on which hinire mucli of the world's woe, becautio 
of silent suileriucr, pal.^ cheeks and brokeiTcon t'tutiouc." 
jEJnrn(ire?\ PJiUade'pJua, rcnn. 
" It is a plain, sen^ihlo talk on subjects usually considered too delicate to be 
either spoken or wririen about, but here put in a way that cannot offend any- 
body. It is a book that every mother should read and tl.en put in her daughters 
hand.'' 

N. Y. Times. 
"A book of sound advice to women. ' 

Chrisiia?i Intelllneneer, 2T. Y. City. 
"yrritten by a women who speaks from the stand-point of an eancatcd ex- 
pcricnc3. Its style is simple, chaste and earnest, and it tiraf.s cf subjects 
which it vastly concerns wives, mothers and dan^rhters to know." 
Kational Tribune, Washington. D. C. 
•'The information which this book affords is precisely what evcrj' vkonian 
ought to have.' ' 

Zion.'s Herald, Boston, Mass. 
" In clear and plain style, with the modesty and the knowledge which rn 
educated won. an has of her subject, is preser ted just what the young hciid ( f 
a family ough'. to know about herself and tliobe who may come nrtdcr her care. 
It is aaadnurable book of its kind." 

New York Star. 
" The work opens with a chapter on pi; ys-ical culture, which is followed by- 
essays on physiology in general. The feeding of children, the rights of chil- 
dren, the question of education, etc, ojtc all "discussed, nud the vvorkls iiiUy 
illustrated." 

ISf. Y. Medical Times. 
" It treats of the importance of physical ctitturo and hygiene. The chapter.^ 
on ' Intemperance and Tobacco' ai-o especially v orthy of note. Such books as 
this manual are to be welcomed, as helpers-on in tue good cause of uplifting 
and perfectiiig humanity." 

Scientific American, ]Sf. Y. 
"The importance of physical culture for women, with especial reference to 
their clnties in the household and the raisinf; and care of children, are pre mi- 
nently treated in this book."^ 

Indianapolis- Journal^ Indiana. 
" Some work of this kind is indi pcnsable and this one seems to be perfectly 
suited to the purpose for which it was prepared." 

Presbyterian Banner^ Pittsburg, Pa. 
" Prepared by a woman who has herself received a medical trainins', it en • 
tains for mothers instruction t;nJwarniiu^ that should be carefully eonsidei-ed." 



LADIES WANTED to act as Agents, tov^hom libentl 
terms will be given. Copies sent by mail, post-paid, en 
receipt of price, 1 1.50. Address 

HYCilENIC Pi;Sa.:tSMING CO., 017 Broauway, IVew Itorfe^ 
or 482 Van Ouren Strectj MUviaulteCj l,¥is. 



THE 



POETICAL WORKS 



KOBEKT BURN'S 



ILL USTRATED^ 



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JOHN \V, LOVELL CO., PUBLISHERS, 
14 -AN© id Vjesjey Street, 



TROWS 

PRINTING AND BOOKBINDING COMFWW^ 

NEW YORK. 



or 

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4 

i 

I MEMOIR OF ROBERT BURNS. 



Robert Burks was born on the 25tli day of January, 1759, in a small 
house about two miles from the town of Ayr, and within a few hundred yards 
of Alio way Church, which his poem of Tarn d Shanter has rendered immortal. 
The name, which the poet and his brother modernized lato Burns, was 
originally Burnes, or Burness. (^lieir father, William Burnes, was the son of 
a farmer in Kincardineshire, and had received the education common in Scot- 
land to persons in liis condition of life ; he could read and write, and had some 
knowledge of arithmetic. His family having fallen into reduced circumstances, 
he was compelled to leave his home in his nineteenth year, and turned his steps 
toward the south in quest of a livelihood. He undertook to act as a gardener, 
and shaped his course to Edinburgh, where he wrought hard when he could 
obtain employment, passing through a variety of dilficulties. From Edin- 
burgh William Burnes passed westward into the county of Ayr, where he 
engaged himself as a gardener to the laird of Fairly, with whom he lived two 
years; then changed his service for that of Crawford of Doonside. At length, 
being desirous of settling in life, he took a perpetual lease of seven acres of 
land from Dr. Campbell, physician in Ayr, with the view of commencing 
nurseryman and public gardener, and, having built a house upon it with his 
own hands, married in December, 1757, Agnes Brown. The first fruit of this 
marriage was Robert, the subject of these memoirs. Before William Burnes 
had made much progress in preparing his nursery, he was withdrawn from 
that undertaking by Mr. Ferguson, who purchased the estate of Doonholm, in 
the immediate neighbourhood, and engaged him as his gardener and overseer, 
and this was his situation when our poet was born. When in the service of 
Mr. Ferguson, he lived in his own house, his wife managing her family, and 
her little dairy, which consisted of two, sometimes of three milch cows ; and 
this state of unambitious content continued till the year 1766. His son Robert 
was sent by him, in his sixth year, to a school in AUoway Miln, about a mile 
distant, taught by a person of tne name of Campbell ; but this teacher being in 
a few months appointed master of the Avorkhouse at Ayr, William Burnes, in 
conjunction with some other heads of families, engaged John Murdoch in his 
stead. The education of oar poet, and of his brother Gilbert, was in common ; 
and whilst under Mr. Murdoch, they learned to read English tolerably well, 
and to write a little. He also taught them the elements of Englisli grammar, 
in which Robert made some proficiency — a circumstance which had consider- 
able weight in the unfolding of his genius and character ; as he soon became 
remarkable for the fiuency and correctness of his expression, and read the few 
books that came in his way with much pleasure and improvement. 

It appears that William Burnes approved himself greatly in the service of 
Mr Ferguson, by his intelligence, industry, and integrity. In consequence of 
this, with a view of promoting his interest, Mr. Ferguson leai^ed to him the 
farm of Mount Oliphant, in the parish of Ayr ; consisting of upwards of seventy 
acres (about ninety, English Imperial mea^sure), the rent of which was to be 
forty pounds annually for the first six years, and afterwards forty-five pounds. 



]\IE:M01R of TIOBERT BUTINS. 



jMr. Ferguson also lent liim a hundred pounds to assist in stocking the farm, to 
Avhich he removed at Whitsuntide, 1 7G0, But tliis, in place of being of advan- 
tage to William Burnes, as it was intended by his former master, was the 
commencement of much anxiety and distress to the whole family, which is 
forcibly described by his son, (Jilbert, in a letter to Mrs. Dunlop: 

"Mount Oliphant, the farm my father possessed in the parish of Ayr, is 
almost the very poorest soil 1 know of in a state of cultivation. A stronger 
proof of this I cannot give, than that, notwithstanding the extraordinary rise 
in the value of lands in Scotland, it was, after a considerable sum laid out iu 
improving it by the proprietor, let a few yenrs ago five pounds per annum lowef 
than the rent paid for it by my father thirty years ago. My father, in conse- 
quence of this, s;)on came into diihculties, which were increased by the loss of 
several of his caitle by accidents and disease. To the buft'e tings of misfortune, 
\ve could only o;MJose hard labour and the most rigid economy. We lived very 
sparingly For several years butcher's meat was a stranger in the house, while 
all the members of the family exerted themselves to the utmost of their 
strength, and rather beyond it, in the labours of the farm. My brother, at the 
age of thirteen, assisted in thrashing the crop of corn, and at fifteen was the 
principal labourer on the farm, for we had no hired servant, male or female. 
The anguish of mind we felt at our tender years, under these straits and dif- 
ficulties, v.as very great. To tirink of our lather growing old (for he Avas now 
above fifty) broken down wdth the long-continued fatigues of his life, with a 
wii'e and five other children, and in a declining state of circumstances, these 
refiections produced in my brother's mind and mine sensations of the deepest 
distress. 1 doubt not but the hard labour and sorrow of this period of his life, 
was in a great measure the cause of that depression of spirits with which 
Robert was so often alllicted through his whole life afterwards. At this time 
he was almost constantly afflicted in the evenings with a dull headache, which, 
at a future period of his life, was exchanged for a palpitation of the heart, and 
a threatening of fainting and sulfocation in his bed, in the night-time. 

*' By a stipulation in my father's lease, he had a right to throw it up, if he 
thought proper, at the end of every sixth year. Pie attempted to fix himself in 
a better farm at the end of the first six years, but failing in that attempt, he 
continued where he was for six years more. He then took the farm of Loch- 
lea, of 130 acres, at the rent of twenty shillings an acre, in the parish of Tar- 
bolton, of Mr. , then a merchant in Ayr, and now (1797) a mer- 
chant at Liverpool. He removed to this farm at Whitsuntide, 1777, and pos- 
sessed it only seven years. No writing had ever been made out of the condi- 
tions of the lease ; a misunderstanding took jilace resj^ecting them ; the sub- 
jects in dispute were submitted to arbitration, and the decision involved my 
father's affairs in ruin. He lived to know of this decision, but not to see any 
execution in consequence of it. He died on the 13tli of February, 1784." 

Of this frugal, industrious, and good man, the following beautiful character 
has been given by Mr. Murdoch: — "He wtis a tender and affectionate father; 
he took pleasure in leading his children in the path of virtue; not in driving 
them as some parents do, to the performance of duties to which they them- 
selves are averse. Ho took care to find fault but very seldom; and therefore, 
when he did rebuke, he was listened to with a kind of reverential awe. A 
look of disapprobation was felt; a reproof was severely so; and a stripe with 
the tairs, even on the skirt of the coat, gave heartfelt pain, produced a loud 
lamentation, and brought forth a Hood of tears. 

"He had the art of gaining the esteem and good- will of those that were la- 
bourers under him. I think I never saw him angry but twice: the one time it 
was with the foreman of the band, for not reaping tlie field as he was desired; 
and the other time it was with an old man, for using smutty inuendoes and 
<^uUe entendre*. Were ever/ foul-mouthed old maii to receive a seasonable 



MEMOIR OF ROBERT BTJRITS. 



check in this way, it would be to the advantage of the rising generation. A ! 
lie was at no time overbearing to inferiors, he was equally incapable of that 
passive, pitiful, paltry spirit, that induces some people to keep hooing and boo- 
ing in the presence of a great man. He always treated superiors with a becom- 
ing respect; but he never gave the smallest encouragement to aristocraticalarrvO: 
gance. But I must not pretend to give you a description of all the manly quali- 
ties, the rational and Christian virtues, of the venerable William Burncs. Timo 
would fail me. I shall only add, that he carefully practised every known 
duty, and avoided everything that was criminal; or, in the apostle's words, 
' Herein did he exercise himself, in living a life void of offence towards God 
and towards men.' Oh for a world of men of such dispositions ! We should 
then have no wars. I have often wished, for the good of mankind, that it 
were as customary to honour and perpetuate the memory of those who excel in 
moral rectitude, as it is to extol what are called heroic actions: then would tli',; 
mausoleum of the friend of my youth overtop and surpass most of the monu- 
ments 1 see in Westminster xVbbey \" 

Under the humble roof of his parents, it appears indeed that our poet had 
great advantages; but his opportunities of information at school were more 
limited as to time than they usually are among his countrymen, in his condi- 
tion of life; and the acquisitions which he made, and the poetical talent which 
he exerted, under the pressure of early and incessant toil, and of inferior, and 
perhaps scanty nutriment, testify at once the extraordinary force and activity 
of his mind. In his frame of body he rose nearly five feet ten inches, and as- 
sumed the proportions that indicate agility as well as strength. In the varioiiri 
labours of the farm he excelled all his competitors. Gilbert Burns declares tliat 
in mowing, the exercise that tries all the muscles most severely, Robert was 
the only man that, at the end of a summer's day, he was ever obliged to ac- 
knowledge as his master. But though our poet gave the powers of his body 
to the labours of the farm, he refused to bestow on them his thoughts or \\\r, 
cares. While the ploughshare under his guidance passed through the sward, 
or the grass fell under the sweep of his scythe, he was humming the songs of 
his country, musing on the deeds of ancient valour, or rapt in the illusions of 
Fancy, as her enchantments rose on his view. Happily the Sunday is yet a 
sabbath, on which man and beast rest from their labours. On this day, there- 
fore, Burns could indulge in a freer intercourse with the charms of nature. It 
was his delight to wander alone on the banks of Ayr, whose stream is now^ immo> 
tal, and to listen to the song of the blackbird at the close of the summer's day. 
But still greater was his pleasure, as he himself informs us, in walking on the 
sheltered side of a wood, in a cloudy winter day, and hearing the storm rave 
among the trees; and more elevated still his delight to ascend some eminence 
during the agitations of nature, to stride along its summit while the lightning 
flashed around him, and, amidst the bowlings of the tempest, to apostro- 
phize the spirit of the storm. Such situations he declares most favorable to 
devotion — "Rapt in enthusiasm, I seem to ascend towards Hiva who icalks on 
the wings of the wind I" If other proofs were wanting of the character of his 
genius, this might determine it. The heart of the poet is peculiarly awake to 
every impression of beauty and sublimity; but, with the higher order of poets, 
the beautiful is less attractive than the sublime. 

The gayet}^ of many of Burns' writings, and the lively and even cheerful 
colouring with which he has poiirtrayed his own character, may lead some per- 
sons to suppose, that the melancholy wdiich hung over him towards the end of 
his days was not an original part of his constitution. It is not to be doubted, 
indeed, that this melancholy acquired a darker hue in the progress of his life , 
but, independent of his own and of his brother's testimony, evidence is to bo 
found among his papers that he was subject very early to those depressions 
of mind, which are perhaps not wholly separable from the sensibility of genius, 
but which in him rose to an uncommon degree. 



IvIEMOIR OF ROBERT BURIs3. 



The energy of Burns* mind was not exhausted by liis daily labours, the 
effusions of his muse, his social pleasures, or his solitary meditations. Some 
time previous to his engagement as a tlax-dresscr, having heard that a debat- 
ing-club had been established in Ayr, ho resolved to try how such a meeting 
Avould succeed in the village of Tarbolton. About the end of the year 1780, 
our poet, his brother, and live other young peasants of the neighbourhood, 
formed themselves into a society of this sort, the declared objects of which 
were to relax themselves after toil, to promote sociality and friendship, and to 
improve the mind. The laws and regulations were furnished by Burns. The 
members were to meet after the labours of the day were over, once a week, in 
a small public house in the village; Avhere each should offer his opinion on a 
given question or subject, supporting^ it by such arguments as he thought 
proper. The debate was to be conducted with order and decorum; and after it 
was finished, the members were to choose a subject for discussion at the ensu- 
ing meeting. The sum expended by each was not to exceed three-pence; and, 
with the humble potation that this cotild procure, they were to toast 
their miF-J resses and to cultivate friendship with each other. 

After the family of our bard removed from Tarbolton to the neighbourhood 
of Mauchline, he and his brother were requested to assist in forming a similar 
institution there. The regulations of the club at Mauchline were nearly the 
same as those of the club at Tarbolton; l)ut one laudable alteration was made. 
The fines for non-attendance had at Tarbolton been spent in enlarging their 
scanty potations: at Mauchline it was fixed, that the money so arising should 
be set apart for the purchase of books; and the first work procured in 
this manner was the Mirror, the separate numbers of which were at that time 
recently collected and published in volumes. After it followed a number of 
other works, chiefly of the same nature, and among these the Lounger. 

The society of Mauchline still subsists, and was in the list of subscribers to 
the first edition of the works of its celebrated associate. 

Whether, in the humble societies of which he was a member. Burns acquir- 
ed much direct information, may perhaps be questioned. It cannot however be 
doubted, that by collision the faculties of his mind would be excited, that by 
practice his habits of enunciation would be established, and thus we have some 
explanation of that early command of words and of expression which enabled 
him to pour forth his thoughts in language not unworthy of his genius, and 
which, of all his endowments, seemed, on his appearance in Edinburgh, the 
most extraordinary. For associations of a literary nature, our poet acquired a 
considerable relish; and happy had it been for him, after lie emerged from the 
condition of a peasant, if fortune had permitted him to enjoy them in 
the degree of which he was capable, so as to have fortified his principles of 
virtue by the purification of his taste, and given to the energies of his mind 
habits of exertion that might have excluded other associations, in which it 
must be acknowledged they were too often wasted, as well as debased. 

The whole course of the Ayr is fine; but the banks of that river, as it bend.s 
to the eastward above Mauchline, are singularly beautiful, and they were 
frequented, as may be imagined, by our poet in his solitary walks. Here the 
muse often visited him. 

At this time Burns' prospects in life were so extremely gloomy, that he had 
decided upon going out to Jamaica, and had procured the situation of overseer 
on an estate belonging to Dr. Douglas ; not, however, without lamenting, that 
want of patronage should force him to think of a project so repugnant to his 
feelings, when his ambition aimed at no higher object than the station of an 
exciseman or ganger in his own country. But the situation in which lie was 
now placed cannot be better illustrated than by introducing the letter which ho 
wrote to Dr. Moore, giving an account of his life up to this period. As it was 
never intended to see tb^ light : elegance, or perfect correctness of composition.^ 



:memoiii of Robert burns. 9 

will not be expected. These however, will be compensated by the opportunity 
of seeing our poet, us he gives the incidents of his life, unfold the peculiarities 
of his character with all the careless vigor and op^a sincerity of his mind. 

"Sir : Mauchline, 2d August, 1787. 

" For some months past I have been rambling over the country ; but I am 
Qow confined with some lingering complaints, originating, as I take it, in the 
stomach. To divert my spirits a little in this miserable fog of ennui, I have 
taken a wliim to give you a history of myself. My name has made some little 
noise in this country ; you have done me the honour to interest yourself very 
warmly in my behalf ; and I think a faithful account of what" character of 
a man I am, and how I came by that character, may perhaps amuse you in an 
idle moment. I will give you an honest narrative ; though I know it will be 
often at my own expense ; — for I assure you, sir, I have, like Solomon, whose 
character, except in the trifling afEair of icisdom, I sometimes think I resemble 
— I have, 1 say, like him, ' turned my eyes to behold madntss and folly,' and, 
like him, too frequently shaken hand with their intoxicating friendship. * * 

* After you have perused these pages, should you think them trifling and 
impertinent, I only beg leave to tell you, that the poor author wrote them un- 
der some twitching qualms of conscience, arising from a suspicion that he 
■was doing what he ought not to do — a predicament he has more than once been 
in before. 

" I have not the most distant pretensions to assume that character, which 
the pye-coated guardians of escutcheons call a Gentleman. When at Edinburgh 
last winter, I got acquainted in the Herald's Oflice; and looking through that 
granary of honours, I there fotmd almost every name in the kingdom; but for 
me, 

My ancient but ig-noble blood 
Has crept through scoundrels ever since the flood. 

Gules, Purpure, Argent, &c., quite disowned me. 

" My father was of the north of Scotland, the son of a farmer, and was 
thrown by early misfortunes on the world at large ; where, after many years' 
wanderings and sojournings, he picked up a pretty large quantity of observa- 
tion and experience, to which I am indebted for most of my pretensions to wis- 
dom. I have met with few who understood men, their man?iers, and their 
icays, equal to him; but stubborn, ungainly integrity, and headlong, ungovern- 
able irascibility, are disqualifying circumstances; consequently, I was born a 
very poor man's son. For the first six or seven years of my life, my father 
vras gardener to a worthy gentleman of small estate in the neighboi^liood of 
A.yr. Had he continued in that station, I must have marched off to be one of 
the little underlings about a farm house ; but it was his dearest wish and 
]-!rayer to have it in his power to keep his children under his own eye till they 
could discern between good and evil; so, with the assistance of his generoiis 
master, my father ventured on a small farm on his estate. At those years I 
was by no meansa favourite with anybody. I was a good deal noted for a re- 
tentive memory, a stubborn sturdy something in my disposition, and an enthu- 
siastic idiot piety, I say idiot piety, because I was then but a child. Though 
it cost the schoolmaster some thrashings, I made an excellent English scholar-, 
and by the time I was ten or eleven years of age, I was a critic in substantives, 
verbs, and participles. In my infant and boyish days, too, I owed much to an 
old woman who resided in the family, remarkable for her ignorance, credulity, 
and superstition. She had, I suppose, the largest collection in the country of tales 
and songs concerning devils, ghosts, fairies, brownies, witches, warlocks, 
spunkies, kelpies, elf-candles, deadlights, wraiths, apparitions, cantraips, 
giants, enchanted towers, dragons, and other trumpery. This cultivated the 



10 MEMOni OF rvOBEPvT BURK3. 



latent seeds of poetry ; but had so strong an efrect on my iinugiuution, tiuit to 
this hour, in my noctTurnal rambles, I sometimes keep a sharp iook-ouc in sus- 
picious phices ; and thougli nobody can be more skeptical than Y am in 
such matters, yet it often takes an ell'ort of philosophy to shake ofE these idlq 
terrors. The earliest composition that 1 recollect taking pleasure in was 27ie 
Vision of Mina, and a hymn of Addison's, beginning ' How are thy servants 
blessed, O Lord !' I particularly remember one half-stanza, which was music 
to my boyish ear — 

For though on dreadful whirls we hung 
High on tiie broken wave. 

t met with these pieces in Mason's English Collection, one of my school-books. 
The two hrst books I ever read in private, and which gave me more pleasure 
than any two books I ever read since, were, Hit, Life of Jlanrdbal, and The 
Hintory of Sir William Wallace. Hannibal gave my young ideas such a turn, 
that I used to strut in raptures up and down after the recruiting drum and bag- 
pipe, and wish myself tall enough to be a soldier ; while the story of Wallace 
poured a Scottish prejudice into my veins, which will boil along there till the 
liood-gates of life shut in eternal rest. 

" Polemical divinity about this- time was putting the country half mad : and 
I, ambitious of shining in conversation pai-ties on Sundays, between sermons, 
fit funerals, &c. , used a few years afterwards to puzzle Calvinism Avithsomuch 
heat and indiscretion, that I raised a hue-and-cry of heresy against me, which 
has not ceased to this hour. 

" My vicinity to Ayr was of some advantage to me. My social disposition, 
when not checked by some modifications of spirited pride, was, like our cate- 
ciiis-m definition of infinitude, without houmU or limits. I formed several con- 
nections with other yonkers who possessed superior advantages, the youngling 
actors, who were busy in the rehearsal of parts in which they were shortly to 
appear on the stage of life, where, alas I 1 was destmed to drudge behind the 
scenes. It is not commonly at this green age that our young gentry have a just 
sense of the immense distance between them and their ragged play-fellows. It 
takes a few dashes into the world, to give the young great man that proper, de- 
cent, _ unnoticing disregard for the poor, insignificant, stupid devils, the me- 
chanics and peasantry around him, who were perhaps born in the same village. 
My young superiors never insulted the c^6»?^^£?r/^ appearance of my plpugh-boy 
carcase, the two extremes of which were often exposed to all the inclemencies 
of all the seasons. They would give me stray volumes of books ■ among them, 
even then, I could pick up some observations ; and one, whose heart 1 am sure 
not even the Munny Begum scenes liavc tainted, helped me to a little French. 
Parting with these my young friends and benefactors, as they occasionally 
Avent off for the East or West Indies, was often to me a sore atfliction ; but I 
v^-as soon called to more serious evils. My father's generous master died ; the 
farm proved a ruinous bargain ; and, to clench the misfortune, we fell into 
the hands of a factor, who sat for the picture I have drawn of one in my Tale 
of Tica Dogs. My father was advanced in life when he married ; I was the 
eldest of seven children ; and he, worn out by early hardships, was unfit for 
labour. My father's spirit was soon irritated, but not easily broken. There was 
a freedom in his lease in two years more ; and, to weather these two years, we 
retrenched our expenses. We lived very poorly : I was a dexterous plough- 
man for my age ; and the next eldest to me was a brother (Gilbert), who could 
drive the plough very well and help me to thrash the corn. A novel-writer 
might perhaps have viewed these scenes with some satisfaction ; but so did not 

I ; my indignation yet boils at the recollection of the s 1 factor's insolent 

threatening letters, which used to set us all in tears. 

•* This kind of life — the cheerless sloom of a hermit, with the unceasing moi] 



MEMOIR OF ROBERT BURNS. 



oi a galley-slave, brought me to my sixteenth year : a little before which 
period I first committed the sin of rhyme. You know our country custom oi 
couplmg a man and woman together as partners in the labours of the harvest. 
In my fifteenth autumn, my partner was a bewitching creature a year younger, 
than myself. My scarcity of English denies me the power of doing her 
justice in that language, but you know the Scottish idiom — she was a 
hninie, sweet, sonsie l(',ss. In short, she, altogether unwittingly to herself, in- 
iliated me into that delicious passion, which, in spite of acid disappointment, 
gill-horse prudence, and boolv-worm philosophy, I hold to be the first of human 
joys, our dearest blessing here beloAv ! How she caught the contagion, I cannot 
tell : you medical people talk much of infection from breathing the same air, 
the touch. &c. ; but I never expressly said I loved her. Indeed, I did not know 
myself why I liked so much to loiter behind with her, Avhen returning in the 
evening from our labours ; why the tones of her voice made my heart-strings 
thrill like an ^Eolian harp ; and p;irticularly vvhy my pulse beat such a furious 
rattan when I looked and fingered over her little hand to pick out the cruel 
nettle-stings and thistles. Among her other love-inspiring qualities, she sung 
sweetly ; and it was her favourite reel to which I attempted giving an embodied 
vehicle in rhyme. I was not so presumptuous as to imagine that I could make 
verses like printed ones, composed by men who had Greek and Latin ; but my 
girl sung a song, which was said to be composed by a small country laird's son, 
on one of liis fat tier's maids, with whom he was in love ! and I saw no reasoi-. 
why I might not rhyme as well as he : for, excepting that he could smear 
slieep, and cast peats, his father living in the moorlands, he had no more 
school-cr^ft than myself. 

" Thus with me began love and poetry ; which at times have been my only, 
and till within the last twelve months, have been my highest enjoyment. My 
father struggled on till he reached the freedom in his lease, when he entered on 
a larger farm, about ten miles farther in the country. The nature of the bar- 
gain he made was such as to throw a little ready money into his hands at the 
commencement of his lease ; otherwise the affair would have been impracti- 
cable. For four years we lived comfortably here ; but a difference commencing 
between him and his landlord as to terms, after three years' tossing and whirl- 
ing in the vortex of litigation, my father v/as just saved from the horrors of a 
jail by a consumption, Avhich, after two years' promises, kindly stepped in, and 
carried him away, to ' where the wicked cease from troubling, and where the 
weary are at rest. ' 

" It is during the time that we lived on this farm that my little story is most 
eventful. I was, at the beginning of this period, perha]is the most ungainly, 
awkward boy in the parish — no solitaire was less acquainted with the ways of 
the world. What I knew of ancient story was gathered from Sahnon's and 
Guthrie's geographical grammars ; and the ideas I had formed of modern man- 
ners, of literature and criticism, I got from the Spectator. These, with Pope's 
Works, some plays of Shakespeare, Tull and Dickson on Agricvlture, The Pan- 
theon, Locke's Essay on the Human Understanding, Stackliouse' s History of the 
Bible, Justice's British Gardener's Birectory, Bayle's Lectures, Allan Ramsay's 
Works, Taylor's Scripture Doctrine of Origimd Sin, A Select Collection of Eng- 
lish Songs, and Hervcy's Meditations, had formed the whole of my reading. 
The collection of songs was my vade mecum. I pored over them driving my 
cart, or walking to labour, song by song, verse by verse ; carefully noting the 
true, tender, or sublime, from afTectation and fustian. I am convinced 1 owe 
to this practice much of my critic craft, such as it is. 

" In my seventeenth year, to give my manners a brush, I went to a country 
dancing-school.— My father had an unaccountable antipathy against these meet- 
ings ; and my going was, what to this moment I repent, in opposition to his 
wishes. My father, as I said before, was subject to strong passions ; frou! 



12 MEMOIR OF ROBERT BURNS. 

tliat instance of disobedieucs in me, lie took a sort of a dislike to me, wbicli 1 
believe was one cause of tlio dissipation which marked my succeedin/^ years, 
1 say dissipation, comparatively with the strictness, and sobriety, and regular- 
ity of Presbyterian country liCo ; for though the Will-o'-Wisp meteors of 
thoughtless whim were almost the solo lights of niypath, yet early ingrained 
piety and virtue kept me for several years afterwards within the line of inno- 
cence. \ The great misfortime of my life was to want an aim. j 1 had felt early 
some stirrings of ambition, but they were the blind gropings or Homer's Cyclops 
round the walls of his cave. I saw my father's situation entailed on me per- 
petual labour. The only two openings by which I could enter the temple of For 
tune, was the gate of niggardly economy, or the path of little chicaning bar- 
gain-making. The first is so contracted an aperture, I never could squeeze my- 
self into it ; — the last I always hated — there was contamination in the very en- 
trance ! Thus abandoned of aim or view in life, with a strong appetite for 
sociability, as well from native hilarity, as from a pride of observation and re- 
mark ; a constitutional melancholy or hypochondriacism, that made me fly soli- 
tude ; add to these incentives to social life, my reputation for bookish knowl- 
edge, a certain wild logical talent, and a strength of thought, something like 
the rudiments of good sense; and it will not seem surprising that I was gener- 
ally a welcome guest, where I visited, or any great wonder that, always v.diere 
two or three met together, there I was among them. But far beyond all other 
impulses oi my hea.vt, v>^cis 11 n 2^eric7iant dT adorable moitle du genre hiimain. 
My heart was completely tinder, and was eternally lighted up by some goddess 
or other; and as in every other u-arfare in this world, my fortune was various 
— sometimes I was received with favour, and sometimes I was mortified with a re- 
pulse. At the plough, scythe, or reap-liook, I feared no competitor, and thus 1 
set absolute want at defiance; and as I never cared farther for my labours than 
while I vv'as in actual exercise, I spent the evenings in the way after my own 
heart. A country lad seldom carries on a love-adventure without an assisting 
confidant. I possessed a curiosity, zeal , and intrepid dexterity, that recom- 
menaed me as a proper second on these occasions ; and 1 dare say I felt as 
much pleasure in being in the secret of half the loves of the parish of Tarbol- 
ton, as ever did statesman in knowing the intrigues of half the courts of Eu- 
rope. — The very goose-feather in my hand seems to know instinctively the 
well-worn path of my imagination, the favourite theme of my song ; and is 
with diflaculty restrained from giving you a couple of paragraphs on the love- 
adventures of my compeers, the humble inmates of the farm-house and cottage; 
biitrthe grave sons of science, ambition, or avarice, baptize these things by tho 
name of Follies. To the sons and daughters of labour and poverty, they are 
matters of the most serious nature : to them the ardent hope, the stolen inter 
view, the tender farewell, are the greatest and most delicious parts of theii 
enjoyments. 

' "Another circumstance in my life which made some alteration in my mind 
and manners, was that 1 spent my nineteenth summer on a smuggling coast, a 
good distance from home, at a noted school, to learn mensuration, surveying, 
dialling, &c., in which I made a pretty good progress. But I made a greater 
progress in the knowledge of mankind. The contraband trade was at that 
time very successful, and it sometimes happened to me to fall in with those 
who carried it on. Scenes of swaggering riot and roaring dissipation were till 
this time new to me : but I was no enemy to social life. Here, though I 
learnt to fill my glass and to mix without fear in a drunken squabble, yet I 
went on with a high hand with my geometry, till the sun entered Virgo, a 
month which is always a carnival in my bosom, when a charming fillette, who 
lived next door to the school, overset my trigonometry, and sent me ofT at a 
tangent from the sphere of my studies. I, however, struggled on with mj 



MEMOIR OF ROBERT BURNS. 13 

sines and co-sines for a few days more ; but stepping into the garden one charm- 
ing noon to take the sun's altitude, there 1 met my angel. 

Like Proserpine g-athering flowers, 
Herself a fairer flower. • 

** It was in vain to think of doing any more good at school. The remaining 
tveek I staid, I did nothing but craze the faculties of my soul about her, or 
steal out to meet her ; and the two last nights of my stay in the country, had 
sleep been a mortal sin, the image of this modest and innocent girl had kept me 
guiltless. 

* ' I returned home very considerably improved. My reading was enlarged 
with the very important addition of Thomson's and-^Shenstone's Works ; I had 
seen human nature in a new pliasis : and I engaged several of my school-feh 
lows to keep up a literary correspondence with me. This improved me in com- 
position. I had met with a collection of letters by the wits of Queen Anne's 
reign, and I pored over them most devoutly ; I kept copies of any of my own 
letters that picajed me ; and a comparison between them and the composition 
of most of my correspondents flattered my vanity. I carried this whim so fai^ 
that though I had not three farthings' worth of business in the world, yet 
alijiost every post brought me as many letters as if I had been a plodding son 
of a day-book and ledger. 

"My life flowed on much in the eame course till my twenty-third year. 
Vive l'amou7\ et vive la bagatelle, were my sole principles of laction. The addi- 
tion of two more authors to my library gave me great pleasure ; Sterne 
and M'Kenzie — Tristram Shandy and The Man of Feeling — were my bosom 
favourites. Poesy was still a darling walk for my mind : but it was only in- 
dulged in according to the humour of the hour. I had usually half a dozen or 
more pieces in hand ; I took up one or the other, as it suited the momentary 
tone of the mind, and dismissed the work as it bordered on fatigue. My pas- 
sions, when once lighted up, raged like so many devils till they got vent in 
ihyme ; and then the conning over my verses, like a spell, soothed all into 
qaiet. None of the rhymes of those days are in print, except, Yv'inter, a Dirge, 
\ lie eldest of my printed pieces ; The Death of Poor Mailie, John Barleycorn, 
and songs, first, second, and third. Song second was tlie ebullition of that 
passion which ended the forementioned school business. 

" My twenty-third year was to me an important era. Partly through v/him, 
and partly that I wished to set about doing something in life, I joined a flax- 
dresser in a neighbouring town (Irvine) to learn his trade. This was an unlucky 
affair. My ***** -s^ *; and, to finish the whole, as we were giving a welcom- 
ing carousal to the new year, the shop tock fire, and burnt to ashes; and I was 
left, like a true poet, not worth a sixpence. 

"I was obliged to give up this scheme; the clouds of misfortune were 
gathering thick round my father's head; and what was worst of all, he was 
visibly far gone in a consumption; and, to crown my distresses, a belle file 
whom I adored, and who had pledged her soul to meet me in the field 
of matrimony, jilted me with peculiar circumstances of mortification. The 
finishing evil that brought up the rear of this infernal file was, my constitu- 
tional melancholy being increased to such a degree, that for three months I was 
in a state of mind scarcely to be envied by the hopeless wretches who have got 
their mittimus — Der)'i.rt from me, ye accursed! 

" From this advr-rture, I learned something of a town life; but the principal 
tiling which gavr ^ mind a turn was a friendship I formed with a young 
fellow, a very noc. '.r.racter, but a hapless son of misfortune. He was a son 
of a simple mechanic; but a great man in the neighbourhood taking him undor 
kis patronage, gave him a genteel education, with a view of bettering 



14 MEMOm OF TvOBERT BCniS"!?, 

liis situation in life. The patron dying- just as he was ready to launch out into 
the world, the poor fellow in despair went to mm; where, after a variety 
of good and ill fortune, a little befoie I was acquainted witli him, he had been 
set ashore by an American privateer, on the wild coast of Conuaugbt, stripped 
of everything. I cannot quit this poor fellow's story without adding, that he 
is at this time master of a large West-Indiaman, belonging to the Thames. 

" His mind was fraught with independence, magnanimi'ty, and every manly 
virtue. I loved and admired him to a degree of enthusiasm, and of course 
strove to imitate him. In some measure I succeeded ; I had pride before, but 
lu' taught it to flow in proper channels. His knowledge of the world was 
va-tly superior to mine, and I was all attention to learn. He was the only man 
1 .ver saw who was a greater fool than myself, where woman was the presid- 
.;iu- star; but he spoke of illicit love with the levity of a sailor, M'hich hitherto 
• I i ad regarded with horror. -Here his friendship did me a mischief, and the 
' <)nsequence was, that soon after I resumed the plough, I wrote the Poet's 
]ixlco7ne.'^ My reading only increased, while in tliis town, by two stray 
volumes of Pamela, and one of Ferdinand Count Fa.tliom, which gave 
me some idea of novels. Rhyme, except some religious pieces that are in print, 
iTiad given up; but meeting with Fergusson's IScottbjh Po(?7?j.v, 1 strung anew 
my wildly-sounding lyre with emulating vigour. When my father died, his all 
went among the hell-hounds that growl in the kennel of justice; but we made 
a shift to collect a little money in the family among us, with ^\•hich, to keep us 
together, my brother and I took a neighbouring farm. My brother wanted my 
hair-brained imagination, as well as my social and amorou^madness; but, in 
good sense, and every sober qualification, he was far my superior. 

" I entered on this farm with a full resolution, * Come, go to, Itwill be wise!' 
I read farming books; I calculated crops; I attended markets: and, in short, in 
spite of 'the devil, and the world, and the flesh,' I believe 1 should have been 
a wise man; but the first year, from unfortunately buying- bad seed, — 
the second, from a late harvest, — we *lost half our crops. Tliis overset all my 
wisdom, and I returned, * like the dog to his vomit, and the sow that 
Was washed to her wallowing in the mire.' 

" I now began to beknovv'n in the neighbourhood as a maker of rhymes. The 
first of my poetic offspring that saw the light was a burlesque lamentation on a 
quarrel between two reverend Calvinists, both of them dramatis persoflcd in my 
Jfolj Fair. I had a notion myself, that the piece had some merit; but 
T.. prevent the worst, I gave a copy of it to a friend who was very fond of such 
I'dngs, and told him that I could not guess who was the author of it, but that 
.' iliought it jjretty clever. "With a certain description of the clergy, as well as 
-Jty, it met with a roar of applause. Iloli/ Willie's Prayer nest made iti 
.)pearance, and alarmed the kirk-session so much, that they held several mcet- 
igs to look over their spiritual artillery, i'f haply any of it might be pointed 
•:gainst profane rhymers. Unluckily for me, my wanderings led me on another 
oide, within point-blank shot of their heaviest metal. This is the unfortunate 
story that gave rise to my printed poem 27w Lament. This was a most melan- 
choly affair, which I cannot yet bear to reflect on, and had very nearly given 
ine one or two of the principal qualifications for a place among those who have 
lost the chart, and mistaken the reckoning, of Rationality. I gave up my part ' 
of the farm to my brother,— in truth, it was only nominally mine, — and made 
v. hat little preparation was in my power for Jamaica. But, before leaving my 
native country forever, I resolved to publish my poems. I weighed my pro- 
ductions as impartially as was in my power; I thought they had merit; and it 
was a delicious idea that I should be called a clever fellow, even though it 
should never reach my ears — a poor negro-driver, — or perhaps a victim to that 

* Rob the Rhymer's Welcome to his Bastard Child. 



MEMOIR OF ROBERT BURNS. 15 

iiiliospitable clime, and gone to tlie world of spirits ! I can truly say, that 
pauvre inconnu as I tlien was, I liad pretty nearly as liigli an idea of myself 
and my works as I have at this moment, when the public has decided in their 
favour. It ever was my opinion, that the mistakes and blunders, both in a 
rational and religious point of view, of which we see thousands daily guilty, 
are owing to their ignorance of themselves.— To know myself has been 
all along my constant study. I weighed myself alone; I balanced myself with 
others; I watched every means of information, to see how much ground 1 occu- 
pied as a man and as a poet: I studied assiduously Nature's design in my form- 
ation — where the lights and shades in my character were intended. I was pretty 
confident my poems would meet with some applause; but, at the worst, the 
roar of the Atlantic would deafen the voice of censure, and the novelty of West 
Indian scenes make me forget neglect. I threw off six hundred copies, of 
which I had got subscriptions for about three hundred and fifty. — My vanity 
was highly gratified by the reception I met with from the public; and besides, 
I pocketed, all expenses deducted, nearly twenty pounds. This sum came very 
seasonably, as 1 Avas thinking of indenting myself, for want of money to pro 
cure my passage. As soon as I was master of nine guineas, the pric(i of 
wafting me to the torrid zone, I took a steerage passage in the fii*st ship that 
was to sail from the Clyde; for 

Hungry ruin had me in the wind. 

" I had been for some days skulking from covert to covert, under all the ter- 
rors of a jail ; as some ill-advised people had uncoupled the merciless pack of 
the law at my heels. I had taken the last farewell of my friends ; my chest 
was on the road to Greenock ; I had composed the last song I should ever 
measure in Caledonia, 'The gloomy night was gathering fast,' when a letter 
from Dr. Blacklock, to a friend of mine, overthrew^ all my schemes, by open- 
ing new prospects to my ])oetic ambition. The Doctor belonged to a set of 
critics, for whose applause I had not dared to hope. Ills opinion that I would 
meet with encouragement in Edinburgh for a second edition fired me so much, 
that away I posted for that city, without a single acquaintance, or a single 
letter of introduction. The baneful star, that had so long shed its blasting 
influence in my zenith, for once made a revolution to the Nadir ; and a kind 
Providence placed me under the patronage of one of the noblest of men, the 
Earl of Glencairn. Ouhliemoi, Grand Dicu, si jamais je Vouhlie! 

" I need relate no farther. At Edinburgh I Avas in a new world ; I mingled 
among many classes of men, but all of them new to me, and I was all attention 
to catch the characters and ' the manners living as they rise.' Whether I have 
profited, time will show." 

Burns set out for Edinburgh in the month of November, 1786, and ar- 
rived on the second day afterwards, having performed his journey on foot. 
He was furnished with a letter of introduction to Dr. Blacklock from Mr. 
Laurie, to whom the Doctor had addressed the letter which has been repre- 
sented as the immediate cause of his visiting the Scottish metropolis. . He was 
acquainted with Mr. Stewart, Professor of Moral Philosophy in the Univer- 
sity, and had been entertained by that gentleman at Catrine, his estate in Ayr- 
shire. He had been introduced by Mr. Alexander Dalzel to the Earl of Glen- 
cairn, who had expressed his high approbation of his poetical talents. He had 
friends, therefore, who could introduce him into the circles of literature, as 
well as of fashion, and his own manners and appearance exceeding every ex- 
pectation that could have been formed of them, he soon became an object of 
general curiosity and admiration. 

The scene that opened on our bard in Edinburgh was altogether new, and in 
a variety of other respects highly interesting, es])ecially to one of his disposi- 
tion of mind. To use an exprw^jgn of Lis owu he found himself " suddenly 



16 MEMOIR OF KOBEiiT J3UKNS. 

translated from the veriest shades of life," into the presence, and indeed inta 
the society, of a number of persons, i)reviously known to him by report as of 
the highest distinction in his country, and whose characters it was natural 
for him to examine with no couiuion curiosity. 

From the men of letters in general, his reception was particularly flattering. 

A taste for letters is not always conjoined with habits of temperance and 
regularity; and Edinburgh, at the time of which we speak, contained perhaps 
tin uncommon proportion of men of considerable talents, devoted to social ex- 
cesses, in which their talents were wasted and debased. 

Burns entered into several parties of this description, wdth the usual vehe 
mence of his character. His generous affections, his ardent eloquence, his 
brilliant and daring imagination, titled him to be the idol of such associations ; 
and accustoming himself to conversation of unlimited range, and to festive in- 
dulgences that scorned restraint, he gradually lost some portion of his relish 
for the more pure, but less poignant pleasures, to be found in the circles of 
taste, elegance and literature. The sudden alteration in his habits of life op- 
erated on him physically as well as morally. The humble fare of an Ayrshire 
peasant he had exchanged for the luxuries of the Scottish metropolis, and the 
effects of this change on his ardent constitution could not be inconsiderable. 
But whatever influence might be produced on his conduct, his excellent under- 
standing suffered no corresponding debasement. He estimated his friends and 
associates of every description at their proper value, and appreciated his own 
conduct with a precision that might give scope lo much curious and melan- 
choly reflection. He saw his danger, and at times formed resolutions to guard 
against it; but he had embarked on the tide of dissipation, and was borne 
along its stream. 

By the new edition of his poems, Burns acquired a sum of money that en- 
abled him not only to partake of the pleasures of Edinburgh, but to gratify a 
desire he had long entertained, of visiting those parts of his native country 
most attractive by their beauty or their grandeur: a desire which the return of 
summer naturally revived. The scenery of the banks of the Tweed, and of its 
tributary streams, strongly interested his fancy; and, accordingly, he left 
Edinburgh on the 6th of May, 1787, on a tour through a country so much cele- 
brated in the rural songs of Scotland. He travelled on horseback, and was 
accompanied, during some part of his journey, by Mr. Ainslie, writer to the 
signet, a gentleman who enjoyed much of his friendship and his confidence. 

Having spent three weeks in exploring the interesting scenery of the Tweed, 
the Jed, the Teviot, and other border districts. Burns crossed over into North- 
umberland. Mr. Kerr and Mr. Hood, two gentlemen with whom he had 
become acquainted in the course of his tour, accompanied him. He visited 
Alnwick Castle, the princely seat of the Duke of Northumberland ; tlie hermit- 
age and old castle of Warks worth ; Morpeth, and Newcastle. In this town he 
spent two days, and then proceeded to the southwest by Hexham and Wardrue, 
to Carlisle. After spending a day at Carlisle with his friend Mr. Mitchell, he 
returned into Scotland by way of Annan. 

Of the various persons with whom he became acquainted in the course of 
this journey, he has, in general, given some account, and almost always a 
favourable one. From Annan, Burns proceeded to Dumfries, and thence 
through Sanquhar, to Mossgiel, near Mauchline, in Ayrshire, where he arrived 
al)out the 8th of June, 1787, after a long absence of six busy and eventful 
months. It wall easily be conceived with what pleasure and pride he was 
received by his mother, his brothers and sisters. He had left them poor, and 
comparatively friendless ; he returned to them high in public estimation, and 
easy in his circumstances. He returned to them unchanged in his ardent 
affections, and ready to share with them, to the uttermost farthing, the pittance 
that fortune had bestowed. 

Having remained with them a fe\y days, he proceeded again to Edinburgh, 
and immediately set out on a journey to the Hio-hlnnfio 



MEMOIR OF ROBERT BURNS. 



From tliis journey Burns returned to liis friends in Ayrshire, witli whom he 
spent the montli of July, renewing- his friendships, and extending his acquaint- 
ance throughout the county, where he was now very generally known and 
admired. In August he again visited Edinburgh, whence he undertook 
another journey, towards the middle of this month, in company with Mr. M. 
Adair, afterwards Dr. Adair, of Harrowgate. 

The different journeys already mentioned did not satisfy the curiosity of 
Burns, About the beginning of September he again set out from Edinburgh, 
on a more extended tour to the Highlands, in company with Mr. Nicol, with 
^^ horn he had contracted a particular intimacy, which lasted during the remain- 
der of his life. Mr. Nicol was of Dumfriesshire, of a descent equally humble 
with our poet. I^ike him he rose by the strength of his talents, and fell by the 
strength of his passions. He died in the summer of 1797. Having received 
the elements of a classical instruction at his parish school, Mr. Nicol made a 
very rapid and singular proficiency ; and by early undertaking the office of an 
instructor himself, he acquired the means of entering himself at the University 
of Edinburgh. There he was first a student of theology, then a student of 
medicine, and Avas afterwards employed in the assistance and instruction of 
graduates in medicine, in those parts of their exercises in which the Latin lan- 
guage is employed. In this situation he was the contemporary and rival of 
the celebrated Dr. Brown, whom he resembled in the particulars of his history, 
as well as in the leading features of his character. The office of assistant- 
teacher in the High-School being vacant, it was as usual filled up by compe- 
tition ; and in the face of some prejudices, and perhaps of some well-founded 
objections, Mr. Nicol, by superior learning, carried it from all the other candi- 
dates. This office he filled at the period of which we speak. 

Mr. Nicol and our poet travelled in a post-chaise, which they engaged for 
the journey, and passing through the heart of the Highlands, stretched north- 
wards about ten miles beyond Inverness. There they bent their course east- 
ward, across the island, and returned by the shore of the German Sea to Edin- 
burgh. In the course of this tour, they visited a number of remarkable 
scenes, and the imagination of Burns was constantly excited by the wild and 
sublime scenery through which he passed. 

A few days after leaving Blair of Athole, our poet and his fellow-traveller 
arrived at Fochabers. In the course of the preceding winter Burns had been 
introduced to the Duchess of Gordon at Edinburgh, and presuming on this 
acquaintance, he proceeded to Gordon Castle, leaving Mr. Nicol at the inn in 
the village. At the castle our poet was received with the utmost hospitality 
and kindness, and the family being about to sit down to dinner, he was invited 
to take his place at the table, as a nuitter of course. This invitation lie accepted, 
and after drinking a few glasses of wine, he rose up, and proposed to with- 
draw. On being pressed to stay, he mentioned, for the first time, his engage 
ment with his fellow-traveller; and his noble host offering to send a servant tc 
conduct Mr. Nicol to the castle. Burns insisted on undertaking that office him- 
:jelf. He was, however, accompanied by a gentleman, a particular acquaint- 
ance of the Duke, by whom the invitation was delivered in all the forms of 
politeness. The invitation, however, came too late; the pride of Nicol w^as- 
inflamed to the highest degree by the neglect which he had already suffered. 
He had ordered the horses to be put to the carriage, being determined to pro- 
ceed on his journey alone; and they found him parading the streets of Focha- 
bers, before the door of the inn, venting his anger on the poistillion, for the 
.slowness with which be obeyed his commands. As no explanation nor en- 
treaty could change the purpose of his fellow-traveller, our poet was reduced 
to the necessity of separating from him entirely, or of instantly proceeding 
with him on their journey. He chose the last of these alternatives; and seat- 
ing himself beside Nirol in the post chaise, v/ith mortification and regret he 



38 MEMOIR OF ROBERT BURNS. 

turned liis back on Gordon Castle; wliere lie had promised liimself some liappj 
days. 

Burns remained at Edinburgh during the greater part of the winter, 1787-8, 
and again entered into the society and dissipation of that metropolis. 

On settling with his publisher, Mr. Creech, in February, 1788, Burns found 
himself master of nearly five hundred pounds, after discharging all his expen- 
ses. Two hundred pounds he immediately advanced to his brother Gilbert, 
who had taken upon himself the support of their aged mother, and was strug- 
gling with many diflficulties in the farm of Mossgiel. With the remainder oi 
this sum, and some farther eventual profits from his poems, he determined on 
settling liimself for life in the occupation of agriculture, and took from Mr. 
Miller, of Dalswinton, the farm of Ellisland, on the banks of the river Nith, 
six miles above Dumfries, on which he entered at Whitsunday, 1788. Having 
been previously recommended to the Board of Excise, his name had been put 
on the list of candidates for the humble office of a ganger, or exciseman ; 
and he immediately applied to acquiring the information necessary for filling 
that office, when the honourable Board might judge it proper to emi)loy him. 
He expected to be called into service in the district in which his farm was sit- 
uated, and vainly hoped to unite with success the labours of the farmer with 
the duties of the exciseman. 

Wlien Burns had in this manner arranged his plans for futurity, liis gener- 
ous heart turned to the object of his most ardent attachment, and listening to 
no considerations but those of honour and affection, he joined with her in a 
public -declaration of marriage, thus legalising their union, and rendering it 
permanent for life. 

It was not convenient for Mrs, Bums to remove immediately from Ayrshire, 
and our poet therefore took up his residence alone at Ellisland, to prepare for 
the reception of his v>dfe and children, who joined him towards the end of the 
)'ear. 

The situation in which Burns now found liimself was calculated to av>'aken 
reflection.' Tlic different steps ho had of late taken wero in their nature highly 
i;ui)ortant, and might be said to have, in some measure, fixed his destiny. lie 
had become a husband and a father ; he had engaged in the managoment of a 
(ionsiderable farm, a difficult and labourious undertaking ; in his success the 
happiness of his family was involved; it was time, therefore, to abandon the 
gayety and dissipation of which he had been too much enamoured ; to ponder 
seriously on the past, and to form virtuous resolutions respecting the future. 

He commenced by immediately rebuilding the dvvelling house on his farm, 
which, in the state he found it, Avas inadequate to the accommodation of his ' 
family. On this occasion, lie himself resumed at times the occupation of a la- 
bourer, and found neither his strength nor his skill impaired. Pleased with 
surveying the grounds he was about to cultivate, and with the rearing of a 
building that should give shelter to his wife and children, and, as he fondly 
hoped, to his own gray hairs, sentiments of independence buoyed up his mind, 
pictures of domestic content and peace rose on his imagination ; and a few 
days passed away, as he himself informs us, the most tranquil, if not the hap- 
piest, which he had ever experienced. 

His fame naturally drew upon him the attention of his neighbouis, aiidhe 
Boon formed a general acquaintance in the district in which he lived. The 
public voice had now pronounced on the subject of his talents ; the reception 
he had met with in Edinburgh had given him the currency which fashion be- 
Btows ; he had surmounted the prejudices arising from his humble birth, and 
he was received at the table of the gentlemen of Nithsdale with welcome, with 
kindness, and even with respect. Their social parties too often seduced him 
from his rustic labours, and it was not long, therefore, before, Burns began to 
riew his farm with dislike and despondence, if not with disgust. 



jTEMOTn nr TvObert burks. 19 

He might indeed still be seen in the spring directing his plough, a labour in 
which he excelled ; or with a white sheet containing his seed-cora, slung 
across his shoulders, striding with measured steps along his turned-up fur- 
rows, and scattering the grain in the earth. But his farm no longer occupied 
the principal part of his care or his thoughts. It was not at Ellisland that he 
was now in general to be found. Mounted on horseback, tins high-minded 
poet was pursuing the defaulters of the revenue among the hills and vales of 
Nithsdale, his roving eye wandering over the charms of nature, and Muttering 
his wail Loard fancies as he moved along. 

Besides his duties in the Excise and his social pleastires, other cireiimstances 
interfered with the attention of Burns to his farm. He engaged in the forma- 
tion of a society for purchasing and circulating books among the fanners of his 
neighbourhood, of which he undertook the management ; and he occupied him- 
seK occasionally in composing songs for the musical work of Mr. Johnson, 
then in the course of publication. These engagements, useful and honourable 
in themselves, contributed, no doubt, to the abstraction of his thoughts from 
the business of agriculture. 

The consequences may be easily imagined. Notwithstanding the uniform 
prudence and good management of INIrs. Burns, and though his rent was mod- 
erate and reasonable, our poet found it convenient, if not necessar}', to resign 
his farm to Mr. Miller, after having occupied it three years and a half. His 
office in the Excise had originally produced about fifty pounds per annum. 
Having acquitted himself to the satisfaction of the Board, he had been ap- 
pointed to a new district, the emoluments of which rose to about seventy pounds 
per annum. Hoping to support himself and his family on liis humble income 
till proaiotion should reach him, he disposed of his stock and of his crop on 
Elli>^land by public auction, and removed to a small house which he had taken 
in Dumfries, about the end of the year 1791. 

Hitherto Burns, though addicted to excess in social prtrtJes, had abstained 
from the habitual use of strong liquors, and his constitution had not suffered 
any permanent injury from the irregularities of his conduct. In Dumfries, 
temi)tatioQS to "the sin that so easily beset him" continually presented them- 
selves ; and his irregularities grew by degrees into habits. These temptations 
unhappily occurred during his engagements in the bvisiness of his office, as well 
as during his hours of relaxation ; and though he clearly foresaw the conse- 
quence of yielding to them, his appetites and sensations, which cotild not per- 
vert the dicta.tes of his judgment, finally triumphed over the powers of his 
will. 

Still, however, he cultivated the society of persons of taste and respectability, 
and iu their company could impose upon himself the restraints of temperaiice 
an I decorum. Nor Avas his muse dormant. In the four years which he lived 
at Dumfries, he produced many of his beautiful lyrics, though it does not ap- 
pear that he attempted any poem of considerable length. 

Burns had eutertained hopes of promotion in the Excise ; but circumstances 
occurred wliich retarded their fulfilment, and which, in his own mind, destroy- 
ed all expectatiou of their bemg ever fulfilled. 

In the midst of all his wanderings, Burns met nothing in his domestic circle 
iKit gentleness and forgiveness, except in the gnawings of his own remorse. 
He acknowledged his transgressions to the wife of liis bosom, promised amend- 
ment, and again received pardon for his offences. But as the strength of his 
body decayed, his resolution became feebler, and habit acquired predominating 
strength. 

From October, 1795, to the January following, an accidental complaint 
confined him to the house. A few days after he began to go abroad, he dined 
at a tavern, and returned about three o'clock in a very cold morning, benumbed 
and intoxicated. This was followed by an attack of rheumatism, which con- 
fJiied him about a week. His appetite now began to fail ; jiis iiand shook,, and 



20 IVTEMOIR OF ROBERT BURNS. 

his voice faltered on any exertion or emotion. His pulse became weaker and 
more rapid, and pain in the larger joints, and in the hands and feet, deprived 
him of the enjoyment of refresliing sleep. Too much d(;jected in ins spirits, 
and too well aware of his real situation to entertain hopes of recovery, he was 
ever nmsing on the approaching desolation of his family, and his spirits sunk 
into a uniform gloom. 

It was hoped by some of his friends, that if he could live through the months 
of spring, the succeeding season might restore him. But they were disappoint- 
ed. The genial beams of the sun infused no vigour into his languid frame; the 
summer wind blew upon him, but produced no refreshment. About the latter 
end of June he was advised to go into the country, and, impatient of medical 
advice, as well as of every species of control, he determined for himself to try 
the effects of bathing in the sea. For this purpose he took up his residence at 
Brow, in Anuaudale, about ten miles east of Dumfries, on the shore of the 
Solway-Frith. 

At hrst. Burns imagined bathing in the sea had been of benefit to him; the 
pains in his limbs were relieved ; but this was inmiediately followed by a new 
attack of fever. When brought back to his own house in Dumfries, on the 18th 
July, he was no longer able to stand upright. At this time a tremor pervaded 
his frame; his tongue was parched, and his mind sunk into delirium, when rot 
roused by conversation. On the second and third day the fever increased, 
and his strength diminished. On the fourth, the sufferings of this great but ill- 
fated genius were terminated, and a life was closed in which virtue and passion 
had been at perpetual variance. 

The death of Burns made a strong and general impression on all who had 
interested themselves in his character, and especially on the inhabitants of the 
town and country in which he had spent the latter years of his life. The 
Gentlemen- Volunteers of Dumfries determined to bmy tlieir illustrious associate 
with military honoius, and every preparation was made to render this last ser- 
vice solemn and impressive. The Fencible Infantr}^ of Angusshire. and the 
regiment of cavalry of the Cinque Ports, at that time quartered in Dumfries, 
offered tlieir assistance on this occasion ; the principal inhabitants of the town 
and neighbourhood determined to walk in the funeral procession ; and a vast con- 
com'se of persons assembled, some of them from a considerable distance, 
to witness the obsequies of the Scottish Bard. On the evening of th<3 25th of 
July, the remains of Burns were removed from his house to the To\Vn Hall, and 
the funeral took place on the succeeding day. A party of the Volunteers, 
selected to perform the military duty in the churchyard stationed themselves 
in the front of the procession with their arms reversed ; the main body of the 
corps sm-rounded and supported the coffin, on which were placed the hat and 
sword of their friend and fellow-soldier; the numerous bod}^ of attendants 
ranged themselves in the rear ; while the Fencible regiments of infantry and 
cavalry lined the streets from the Town Hall to the burial-ground in the 
Southern churchyard, a distance of more than half a mile. The whole proces- 
sion moved forward to that sublime and affecting strain of music, the Dead 
March in Saul ; and three volle3^s fired over his grave marked the return of 
Burns to his parent earth! The spectacle was in a high degree grand and 
solemn, and according with the general sentiments of sympathy and sorrow 
which the occasion had called forth. 

It was an affecting circumstance, that, on the morning of the day of her hus- 
band's funeral, Mrs. Burns was undergoing the pains of labour, and that during 
the solemn service we have just been describing, the posthumous son of our 
poet was born. This infant boy, who received the name of Maxwell, was not 
destined to a long life. He has already become an inhabitant of the same grave 
with his celebrated father. 

The sense of his poverty, and of the approaching distress of his infant family, 
pressed heavily on Burns as he lay on the bed of death. Yet he alluded to his 



MEMOIR OF ROBERT BURNS. 21 



indigence, at times, with something approaching to his wonted gayety. — "Wha<i 
business," said he to Dr. Maxwell, who attended him with tlie utmost zeal, 
" has a physician to waste his time on meV 1 am a poor pigeon not worth 
plucking. Alas ! I have not feather enough upon me to carry me to my grave.' 
And when his reason was lost in delirium, his ideas ran in the same melancholy 
train; the horrors of a jail were continually present to his troubled iuuigination, 
and produced the most affecting exclamations. 

On the death of Burns, the inhabitants of Dumfries and its neighboui-hood 
opened a subscription for the supiwrt of his wife and family. The ieubscrip 
tion was extended to other parts of Scotland, and of England also, particular! v 
London and Liverpool. By this means a sum was raised amounting to scvc i] 
hundred pounds, and thus the widow and children were rescued from iiinr.c 
diate distress, and the most melancholy of the forebodings of Burns happily 
disappointed. 

Burns, as has already been mentioned, was nearly five feet ten inches in height, 
and a form that indicated agility as well as strength. His well-raised forehead, 
shaded with black curling hair, indicated extensive capacity. His eyes were 
large, dark, full of ardour and intelligence. His face was v.-ell formed; and his 
countenance uncommonly interesting and expressive. The tones of his voice 
happily corresponded with tlie expression of his features, and Avith the feelings 
of his mind. When to these endowments are added a rapid and distinct appre- 
hension, a most powerful understanding, and a happy command of language — 
of strength as well as brilliancy of expression — we shall be able to account for 
the extraordinary attractions of his conversation — for the sorcery which, in his 
social parties, he seemed to exert on all around him. In the company of women 
tliis sorcery was more especially apparent. Their presence chamied the fiend 
of melancholy in his bosom, and av/oke his happiest feelings; it excited the 
powers of his fancy, as well as the tenderness of his heart; and, by restraining 
the vehemence and the exuberance of his language, at times gave to his man- 
ners the impression of taste, and even of elegance, which in the company ot 
men they seldom pessessed. This iufluenc© was doubtless reciprocaL 



CONTENTS, 



PAGE 

Original Preface 

Dedication to Edinburgh Edition 

Memoir S 

POEMS. 

,V Bard's Epitaph • go 

Adam A 's Prayer 13S 

A Dedication to Gavin Hamilton, Esq 90 

A Dream 84 

Address of Beelzebub to the President of 

the Highland Society S3 

Address Spoken by Miss Fonteneilj on 

her Benefit Xig-ht 147 

Address to Edinburgh 101 

Address to the Dell 53 

Address to the Shade of Thomson, on 
Crowning his Bust at Ednam, Rox- 
burghshire, with Bays 137 

Address to the Toothache 118 

Address to the Unco Guid, or the Rigidly 

Rigliteous ._ 73 

A. Mother's Lament for the Death of her 

Son 114 

Ansv/er to a Poetical Epistle sent to the 

Author by a Tailor 67 

A Prayer, Left by the Author at a Rev- 
erend Friend's House, in the Room 

where he Slept 96 

A Prayer in the Prospect of Death 37 

A Prayer under the Pressure of Violent 

Anguish 35 

A Winter Night 63 

Castle Gordon o 109 

t'^ath and Dr. Hornbook -^g 

Delia 118 

Despondency: ^n Ode 82 

Elegy on Captain Matthew Henderson. . . 12S 

Elegy on Miss Burnet of Monboddo 134 

Elegy on Peg Nicholson 127 

Elegy on the Death of Robert Dundas, 

Esq., of Arniston m 

Elegy on the Death of Robert Ruisseaux. 38 
Elegy on the Death of Sir James Hunter 

Blair 107 

J'^legy on the Year 1788 115 

Epistle from Esopus to Maria 141 

Epitaph on Holy Willie 44 

Halloween 45 

Holy \yillie's Prayer 43 



PAGE 

Impromptu on Mrs. Riddel's Birthday.... 141 
Invitation to a Medical Gentleman to At- 
tend a Masonic Anniversary Meeting... 92 

Lament for James, Earl of Glencairn 135 

Lament occasioned by the Unfortunate 

Issue of a Friend's Amour 80 

Lament of Mary Queen of Scots on the 

ai)proach of Spring 135 

Liberty: a Fragment 144 

Lines on Fergusson 139 

Lines on Meeting with Lord Dacr 100 

Lines sent to Sir John Whitefoord, Bart., 

of Whitefoord 137 

Lines Written in a Wrapper, enclosing a 

Letter to Captain Grose 123 

Lines \vritten in Friars' Carse Hermitage, 

on the Banks of the Nith 113 

Lines Written in Friars' Carse Hermitage, 

on Nithside 114 

Lines Written en a Bank-Xotc 93 

Lines Written to a Gentleman who had 

Sent him a Newspaper, and offered to 

Continue it free of Expense 128 

Lines Written with a Pencil over the 

Chimney-piece in tlie Parlour of tiie 

Inn at Kenmorc, Taymoutii 108 

Lines Written with a Pencil, Standing bv 

the Fall of Fyers, near Loch Ne^s log 

Man was Made to Mourn 49 

Mauchline Belles 39 

Monody on a Lady Famed for her Caprice. 142 

Nature's Law 105 

Ode : Sacred to th.c Memory of Mrs. Os- 

v.-ald 115 

Ode to Ru<n 82 

Oh, why the Deuce should I Repine 27 

On Scaring some Water-fowl in Loch 

Turit no 

On Sensibility 139 

On tlie Birth of a Posthumous Child 134 

On the Death of a Favourite Child 140 

Poem on Pastoral Poetry 143 

Poetical Address to Mr. William Tvtler... no 
Prologue for Mr. Sutherland's Benefit 

Night, Dumfries 126 

Prologue, Spoken at the Theatre, Dum- 
fries, on New-Year's Day Evening, 

1790 124 

Prologue, Spoken by Mr. Woods on his 
Benefit Night 1 1 ««........-... . 104 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

Remorse 67 

Scotch Drink C5 

Sketch : Inscribed to the Riyht Hon. C. 

J. Fox 117 

Sketch — New-Year's Day, 1790. . • 123 

Sketch of a Character 106 

Sonnet on Hearing a Thrush £in,%'- in a 

Morning Walk 1^1 

Sonnet on the Death of Robert Riudcl, 

Esq., of Glenriddel 143 

3tanzas in the Prospect of Deaih 37 

Stanzas on the Duke of Queensberry 127 

Tam o' Shanter 130 

Tarn Samson's Elegy 94 

The Auld Farmer's New- Year Morning 

Salutation to his Auld Mare Maggie, on 

Giving her the Accustomed Rip of Corn 

to Hansel in the New Year 71 

The A_uthor's Earnest Cry and Pra^/^er to 

the Scotch Representatives in the House 

of Commons CS 

The Belles of Mauchline 37 

The Brigs of Ayr 96 

The Calf 03 

The Cotter's Saturday Night 50 

""^-^The Death and Dying Words of Poor 

Maillie 35 

The Farewell 92 

The first Psalm 33 

The First Six Verses of the Ninetieth 

Psalm 33 

The Hermit ic- 

The Holy Fair C3 

The Humble Petition of Bruar Water to 

the Noble Duke of Athole io3 

The Inventory 7; 

The Jolly Beggers 55 

The Kirk's Alarm 119 

The Ordination 76 

The Poet's Welcome to his lUcgiiimate 

Child T02 

The Rights of Woman 13,5 

The Torbolton Lasses : 33 

The Tree of Liberty 144 

The Twa Dogs X. 

. The Twa Herds : or, The Holy Tulzie. . . . 41 

^^'he Vision Co 

The Vowels : A Talc 1-7 

The Whistle ,20 

To a Haggis 103 

To a Kiss 140 

To a Louse, on Seeing one om a Lady's 

Bonnet at Church .' . . ^6 

To a Mountain Daisy So 

To a Mouse ,^ 

To Captain Riddel of Glenriddel 115 

To Chloris i,^ 

To Clarmda H2 

To Clarinda 112 

To Clarinda 113 

To Clarinda it. 

To Collector Mitchell 147 

To Colonel De Peyster 148 

To John Taylor. 116 

To Miss Cruikshank no 

To Miss Ferrier 107 

To Miss Jessy Levvars, Dumfries 148 



PAGE 

To Miss Logan, with Bcattie's Poems as 
a New-Year's Gift, January i, 1787 103 

To Mrs. C , on Receivmg- a Work of 

Hannah More j 103 

To the Owl 123 

Tragic Fragme.u 33 

Verses intended co be Written Below a 
Noble Earl's Picture 103 

Verses on an Evening View of the Rums 
of Lincluden Abbey 125 

Verses on a Scotch Bard Gone to the 
West Indies 89 

Verses on Captain. Gror.c's Peregrinations 
through Scotland Collecting the An- 
tiquities of that Kingdom 122 

Verses on Reading in a I^ewspaper the 
Death of John M'Lcod, Esq 106 

Verses on Seeing a wounded Hare Limp 
by me which a Fellow had just Shot 117 

Verses on the Destruction of the Woods 
near Drumlanrig 146 

Verses to an oid Sweetheart After her 
Marriage 93 

Verses to John Maxwell of Terraughty, 
on his Birthday 137 

Verses to John Rankine 139 

Verses to Miss Graham of Fintry, with a 
Present of Songs 144 

Verses to my Bed 127 

Verses Written under Violent Grief 93 

Willie Chalmers 04 

Winter: a Dirge 35 

EPISTLES. 

Epistle to a Young Friend 164 

Epistle to Davie 15a 

Epistle to Dr. Blacklock 171 

Epistle to Gavin Hamilton, Esq 163 

Epistle to Hugh Parker 168 

Epistle to James Smith 161 

Epistle to James Tait of Glenconner 17a 

Epistle to John Goudie, Kilmarnock 155 

Epistle to John Lapraik '. 15a 

Epistle to John Rankine 149 

Epistle to Major Logan 165 

Epistle to Mr. M'Adam of Craigengillan. 165 

Epistle to the Rev. John M'Mat'h 159 

Epistle to William Creech 167 

Epistle to William Simpson 155 

First Epistle to R. Graham, Esq., of Fintry. i6g 
Fourth Epistle to Robert Graham, Esq., 

of Fintry 175 

Poetical Invitation to Mr. John Kennedy 163 

Second Epistle to Davie 16c 

Second Epistle to Lapraik 153 

Second Epistle to Robert Graham, Esq., 

of Fintry 172 

Ttiird Epistle to John Lapraik 158 

Third Epistle to Robert Graham, Esq., of 

Fintry 174 

To the Gu id wife of Wauchope House. . • . 166 

EPIGRAMS, EPITAPHS, &c. 

A Bottle and an Honest Friend 18S 

A Farewell 175' 

A G race before Dinner 18S 

A Mother's Address to her Infant i3/ 



CONTENTS. 



X) 



PAGE 

Epigram on Bacon 182 

Epitaph on a Suicide i>i3 

Epitaph on Robert Aiken, Esq 1S5 

Epitaph on Tarn the Chapman 105 

Epitaph on the Author's Father 176 

Epitaph on W 179 

Extempore on Two Lawyers 177 

Extempor'» on William Smellie 178 

Extempore, Pijined to a Lady's Coach — 183 

Extempore to Mr. Syme 184 

Grace after Dinner iS3 

Grace after Dinner • • • i33 

Howlet Face 187 

Innocence 179 

Inscription on a Goblet 1S4 

Johnny Peep i36 

Lines on Viewing Stirling Palace 17S 

Lines sent to a Gentleman whom he had 

Offended • 181 

Lines Spoken Extempore on being ap- 

pomted to the Excise 179 

Lines to John Rankinc 188 

Lines Written under the Picture of the 

Celebrated Miss Burns 17S 

Lines Written on a Pane of Glass in the 

Inn at Moffat 179 

On a Celebrated Ruling Elder.. 1S5 

On a Country Laird 185 

On a Friend 1G5 

On a Henpecked Country Squire 106 

On a Henpecked Country Squire 186 

On a Henpecked Country Squire 1S6 

On a Noisy Polem.ic 1S6 

On a Noted Coxcomb i36 

On a Person Nicknamed the Marquis 179 

On a Schoolmaster 179 

On a Sheep's Head 181 

On a Wag in Mauchline 177 

On Andrew Turner i83 

On Burns' Horse being Impounded i8o 

On Captain Francis Grose iSo 

On Elphinstone's Translation of Martial's 

'' Epigrams " 179 

On Excisemen 1S3 

On Gabriel Richardson, Brewer, Dum- 
fries iSi 

On Gavin Hamilton 1S5 

On Grizzel Grim 180 

On Incivility shown to him at Inverary.. . 179 

On John Bushby 1S7 

On John Dove, Innkeeper, Mauchline 176 

On Lord Galloway 182 

On Lord Galloway 182 

On Miss Jean Scott of Ecclefechan 186 

On Mr. Burton iSo 

On Mr. W. Cruikshank 187 

On Mrs. Kemble 182 

On Robert Riddel 183 

On Seeing Miss Fontenelle in a favourite 

Character iSi 

On Seeing the Beautiful Seat of Lord 

Galloway 182 

On the Death of a Lap-Dog named Echo. 181 

On tlie Illness of a Favourite Child 177 

On the Kirk of Lamington, in Clydesdale, 187 



PAGE 

On the Poet's Daughter 184 

On the Recovery of Jessy Lewars 188 

On the Sickness of Miss Jessy Lewars 188 

On Wat 187 

On Wee Johnny 185 

Poetical Inscription for an Altar to Inde- 
pendence 184 

Poetical Reply to an Invitation 177 

Poetical Reply to an Invitation iSo 

The Black-headed Eagle 181 

The Book-worms 1S2 

The Creed of Poverty 1S3 

The Epitaph 1S2 

The Henpecked Husband 186 

The Highland Welcome 178 

The Parson's Looks 183 

The Parvenu 184 

The Reproof 178 

The Selkirk Grace 183 

The Toast 184 

The Toast 1S8 

The True Loyal Natives 185 

Though Fickle Fortune has Deceived Me. 176 

To a Painter , 176 

To a Young Lady in a Church - ... 177 

To Dr. Maxwell 1S3 

To John M'Murdo, Esq i8a 

To John M'Murdo, Esq i8a 

To Lord Galloway 106 

To Miss Jessy Lewars 188 

To Mr. Syme 184 

To the Editor of the Siar i8a 

Verses Addressed to the Landlady of the 
Inn at Rosslyn 179 

Verses to John Rankine 181 

Verses Written on a Pane of Glass, on the 
Occasion of a National Thanksgiving 
for a Naval Victory 187 

Verses Written on a Window of the Globe 
Tavern, Dumfries 183 

Verses Written on a Window of the Inn 
at Carron 178 

Verses Written under the Portrait of 
Fergusson the Poet 177 

Written in a Lady's Pocket-book 183 

SONGS. 

Address to the Woodlark 283 

Adown Winding Nith 256 

Ae Fond Kiss 232 

A Farewell to the Brethren of St. James' 

Lodge, Torbolton 201 

A Fragment 196 

Af ton Water 199 

Ah, Chloris ! 265 

Amang the Trees, where Humming Bees. 273 

An Excellent New Song 288 

Anna, thy Charms 261 

A Red, lied Rose 259 

A Rosebud by my Early Walk 206 

As I was A-wandering 246 

Auld Lang Syne 213 

Auld Rob Morris 243 

A Vision , 359 



w 



LUlNTtJINUfe', 



Bannocks o' Barley 27^ 

Behold the Hour 232 

Bess and her Spinning-Wheel 238 

Beware o' Bonny Ann 223 

Blithe Hac I Been 253 

Blithe was She 206 

Blooming Nelly 224 

Bonny Dundee 206 

Bonny Lesley 234 

Bonny Peg 244 

Bonny Peg-a-Ramsay 272 

Bonny Peggy Alison 210 

Braving Angry Winter's Storms 207 

Braw lads of Gala Water 214 

Brose and Butter 291 

Bruce's Address to liis Army at Bannock- 
burn 257 

By Allan Stream I Chanced to Rove 255 

Caledonia • • 271 

Caledonia 2S4 

Canst thou Leave me thus, my Katy ? 268 

Cassillis' Banks 273 

Ca' the Ewes 229 

Ca' the Yowes 263 

Chloris. . . . : 264 

Cock up your Beaver 243 

Come Boat me o'er to Charlie 217 

Come, let INIe Take Thee 256 

Come Rede Me, Dame 227 

Coming through the Braes o' Cupar 276 

Commg through the Rye 278 

Contented wi' Little 268 

Countrie Lassie 239 

Craigie-Burn Wood 235 

Dainty Davie 256 

Damon and Sylvia.. 291 

Deluded Swain, the Pleasure 258 

Duncan Gray > . . . 243 



Eliza 

Eppie Adair. 



227 

Fair Eliza 239 

Fairest Maid on Devon Banks 2S9 

Fair Jenny 257 

Fareweel to a' our Scottish Fame 249 

Farewell, thou Stream 267 

Forlorn, my Love, no Comfort near 2S3 

For the Sake of Somebody 260 

Frae the Friends and Land I Love 235 

Fragment — Chloris 2S4 

Gara Water 250 

Gloomy December 232 

Green Grow the Rashes, O ! 195 

Guid E'en to You, Kimmer 277 

Guid wifej Count the Lawin 22S 

Had I a Cave 255 

Had I the Wyte 271 

Happy Friendship 244 

Hee Balou ! 272 

Her Daddie Forbad 215 

Here's a Health to Them that's Awa" 249 

Here's his Health in Water 273 

Here's to thy Health, my Bonny Lass 261 

Her Flowing Locks 274 

Hey for a Lass wi' a Tocher 287 



PAGQ 

Hey, the Dusty Miller., 215 

Highland Mary 242 

How Cruel are the Parents !. . ■ - 285 

How Long and Dreary is the Night ! 265 

Hunting Song 2^3 

I do Confess thou Art sae Fair 237 

I Dream'd I Lay where Flowers were 

Springing i8g 

I hae a Wife o' my Ain 213 

I'll Aye Ca' in by Yon Town 270 

I'm o'er Young to Marry Yet 218 

Is there, for Honest Poverty 278 

It is na, Jean, thy Bonny Face 141 

Jamie, Come Try me 228 

Jeanie's Bosom 260 

Jenny M'Craw 269 

Jessy 287 

Jockey's ta'en the Parting Kiss 262 

John Anderson , my Jo 223 

John Barleycorn 192 

Katherine Jaffray 290 

Lady Mary Ann 247 

Lady Onhe 205 

Lament, Written at a Time when the Poet 

was about to leave Scotland 198 

Landlady. Count the Lawin 216 

Lassie wi' the Lint-White Locks 266 

Last May a Braw Wooer 285 

Let not Woman e'er Complain 366 

Lines on a Merry Ploughman 269 

Logan Braes 233 

Lord Gregory 250 

Lovely Davies 230 

Lovely Polly Stewart 260 

Luckless Fortune 196 

Macpherson's Farewell 208 

Mark Yonder Pomp 2S4 

Mary ' 200 

Mary Morison 193 

Meg o' the Mill ^. 277 

Meg o' the Mill '. 252 

Menie 198 

Montgomery's Peggy 193 

Musing on the Roaring Ocean 209 

My Ain Kind Dearie, 242 

My Bonny Mary 214 

My Collier Laddie 24?^ 

My Father w.iis a Farmer 192 

My Handsome Nell 189 

My Harry Avas a Gallant Gay 223 

My Heart's in the Highlands 224 

My Heart was ance as Blithe and Free.. . 214 

My Hoggie 217 

My Jean"! 105 

My Lady's Gown, there's Gairs upor.'t... 201 

My Lovely Nancv 222 

My Love she's but a Lassie yet 229 

My Nannie, O 190 

My Nannie's Awa' 233 

JMy Peggy's Face 2cv 

My Spouse. Nancy 258 

My Tocher's the Jewel 236 

My Wife's a Winsome Wee Thing 242 

Nithsdale's Welcome Hame 239 

Now Spring has Clad the Grove in Green. 2S6 



CONTENTS. 



zt 



Of a' the Airts the Wind can Blaw 

Oh, Aye my Wife she Dang nie 

Oh, Bonny was Yon Rosy brier 

Oh, can ye Labour Lea 

Oh for Ane-and-Twenty, Tarn 1 

Oh, Guid Ale Comes ^••.- 

Oh, how can 1 be Bathe and^ (jlad ? 

Ohl Kenmure's on and Awa' 

Oh, Lay thy Loof in Mine, Lass. 

Oh, Luve will Venture in 

Oh, Mally's Meek, Mally's Swee'... ....... 

Oh, Merry hae I been Teething a Heckle. 

Ohl Saw ye my Dearie 

Oh, Steer Her Up 

Oh, that 1 had Ne'er been Married 

Oh, Wat ye Wha's in Yon Town ? 

Oh, wat ye what My Minnie did ? 

Oh, were I on Parnassus' Hill 

Oi, were my Love Yon Lilac fair. 

O 1. Wert Thou in the Cauld Blast 

Oh, Whi is She that Lo'es Mc ? « 

O'l, Whistle, and I'll Come to You, my 

Lad 

O'.i, Willie Brew'd a Peck o' Maut 

O Lassie, art thou Sleeping yet ? 

0:i Ccssnock Banks 

On Chloris being 111 

On the Seas and Far Aw?'-. 

Open the Door to Mc, oh ' 

O Phil! y , Happy be that Day 

O Tibbie, I hae seen the Day 

Our Thrissles flourished Fresh and Fair. . 
Out Over the Forth 



The Bonny Wee Thing 23E 

The Braes o' Ballochmyle 197 

The Captain's Lady 227 

The Cardin' o't 269 

The Carle of Kellyburn Braes -. 245 

The Carles of Dysart 278 

The Charming Month of May 266 

The Chevalier's Lament 210 

The Cooper o' Cuddie 275 

The Cure for all Care • 195 

The Day Returns 212 

The Dean of Faculty 286 

The Deil 's aw' wi' the Exciseman.. 234 



Peggy 194 

Phillis the Fair 254 

Rattlin', Roarin' Willie 217 

Raving Winds around her Blowing 209 

Robin 196 

Robin Shure m Hairst 290 



Sae Far Awa' 

Saw ye my Phely ? 

Sic a Wife as Willie had 

Simmer's a Pleasant Time 

Shelah O'Neil 

She says she Lo'es iNIe best of a' 

She's Fair and Fausc 

Smiling Spring Comes in Rejoicing. 
Song. ' 



274 
265 
240 



Son., 

Farmer 

Slay, my Charmer 

Strathallan's Lament 
Sweetest May 



the Character of a R 



ncd 



Tam Glen 225 

The American War 2 33 

The Banks of Cree 262 

The Banks o' Doon 240 

The Banks of Doon 240 

The Banks of the Devon 207 

The Banks of Nith 225 

The Battle of Killiecrankic 228 

The Battle of Sheriff-Muir 223 

The Birks of Aberfeldy 204 

The Blue-Eyed Lassie.' 221 

The Bonny Banks of Ayr 203 

The Bonny Lass of Albany 205 



244 

212 



272 



241 
270 



279 
280 



206 
219 

20 r 

275 
274 
269 
253 
213 
259 

264 
197 



The Deuk's Dang o'er my Daddie, O. 

The Discreet Hint ■ 

The Dumfries Volunteers 

The Farewell 

The Fete Champetre 

The Five Carlines 

The Gallant Weaver • 

The Gowden Locks of Anna.. 
The Heron Election Ballads- 
Ballad 1 

Ballad n -•'•rv'\ 

Ballad lU.— John Bushby's Lamenta- 
tion 281 

The Highland Laddie 274 

The Highland Lassie 199 

The Highland W idow's Lament 275 

The Joyful Widower 

The Laddies by the Banks o' Nith 

The Lass of Ballochmyle 

The Lass of Eccleiechan 

The Lass that Made the Bed to me 

The Last Braw Bridal 

The Last Time 1 Came o'er the Moor 

The Lazy Mist 

The Lovely Lass of Inverness 

The Lover's Morning Salute to his Mis- 
tress 

The Mauchline Lady 

The Mirk Night o" December 233 

Theniel Menzie's Bonny Mary 215 

The ^Piper 269 

The Ploughman 216 

The Poor and Honest Sodger 251 

The Rantin' Dog the Daddie o't 197 

There'll never be Peace till Jamie Comes 

Hame... 230 

There's a Youth m this City 226 

There's News, Lasses, News 292 

There was a Bonny Lass 276 

There was a Lass 199 

There was a Lass, and She was Fair 254 

There was a Wife 292 

The Rigs o' Barley 194 

The Ruined Maid's Lament 2S9 

The Slave's Lament. 247 

The Sons of Old KiUio 201 

The Tailor 225 

The Tither Morn 244 

The Wearv Pund o' Tow. 247 

The Winter is Past 218 

The Winter of Life 270 

The Young Highland Rover 209 

This is no my Ain Lassie 286 

Thou hast Left Me Ever 257 

Tibbie Dunbar 222 

To Chloris 265 

To Daunton Me 216 

To Mary 26* 



(CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

To Mary in Heaven 219 

'Twas na her Bonny Blue Ee 285 

Up in the Morning Early 217 

Wae is my Heart 261 

Wandering Willie 233 

War Song. 231 

Weary Fa' You, Duncan Gray 215 

Wee Willie Gray, o 228 

Welcome to General Dumourier 252 

Wha is that at My Bower-Door ? 269 

What Can a Young Lassie Do ? 236 

When Clouds in Skies do Come together. 196 

When First I Saw Fair Jeanie's Face.. .. 221 

When I Think on the Happy Days 290 

When Rosy May Comes in wi' Flowers. . 222 

Whistle, and I'll Come to You, my Lad... 208 

Whistle o'er the Lave o"t .' 228 

Will ye Go to the Indies, my Mary ? 200 

Wilt Thou be My Dearie ? 260 

Women's Minds 229 

Ye hae Lien Wrang, Lassie 226 

Ye Jacobites by Name 246 

Yon Wild Mossy Mountains 237 

Young Jamie, Pride of a' the Plain 277 

Young Jessie 251 

Young Jockey 227 

Young Peggy iq7 

REMARKS ON SCOTTISH SONG. 

Absence ,24 

Ah ! the Poor Shepherd's Mournful Fate., cjin 

Allan Water 305 

As I Cam Down by yon Castle Wa' 307 

A Southland Jenny „^ 

Auld LangSvne ^f, 

Auld Robin Gray ^:^o 

Auld Rob Morris :;2- 

A Waukrife Minnie ," 333 

Bess the Gawkie om 

Bide Ye Yet 3?j 

Blink o'er the Burn, Sweet Bettie 300 

Bobo' Dunblane 33^ 

Cauld Kail in Aberdeen .20 

Cease, Cease, my Dear Friend, to E.x- "" 

plore ^ 

Clout the Caldron [',,'. ^06 

Corn-Rigs are Bonny ,1. 

Cromlet's Lilt 3„ 

Dainty Davie..... o. -,o 

Donald and Flora. „ '.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.' ii° 

Down the Burn Davie :;o8 

Dumbarton Drums i^^ 

Duncan Gray. , . , ['" ^^^ 

Fairest of the Fair 

Fife, and a' the Lands about it ^i. 

For Lack of Gold ........._ ij^ 

Fye, gae Rub her o'er wi' Strae. ...'.'.'.'.'.'. 298 

Galloway Tam. . . . - e o « . . , .,< 

Gil Monce „,„..,..,, , . ^if^ 

Grama<*ree, iZ, 



PAGB 

Here's a Health to my True Love, &c 321 

He Stole my Tender Heart Away 00a 

HeyTutti Taiti 321 

Highland Laddie 301 

Hughie Graham 335 

I Had a Horse, and I Had nae mair 324 

I'll never Leave thee 314 

I wish my Love were in a Mire 305 

Jamie Gay 297 

John Hay's Bonny Lassie 309 

Johnnie's Gray Breeks 299 

Johnnie Faa, or the Gipsy Laddie 323 

Johnnie Cope 329 

John o' Badenyon 332 

Kirk wad Let me be 322 

Laddie, Lie Near Me 328 

Leader-Haughs and Yarrow 327 

Lewie Gordon 313 

Lord Ronald, my Son 3-;- 

Love is the Cause of my Mourning 317 

Mary Scott, the Flower of Yarrow 308 

Mary's Dream 304 

May Eve, or Kate of Aberdeen "303 

Mill, Mill. 319 

My Ain Kind Dearie, 308 

My Dear Jockev 207 

My Dearie, if thou Die 3i4 

My Jo, Janet 316 

My Tocher's the Jewel 33(3 

Nancy's Ghost 325 

O'er the Moor amang the Heather 337 

Oh Ono Chrio 314 

Oh, Open the Door, Lord Gregory 294 

Polwart on the Green 3.5 

Roslin Castle 295 

Sae Merry as we Twa hae been 310 

Saw ye Johnnie Cummin ? quo' she zg^ 

Saw ye Nae my Peggy ? 296 

She Rose and Let me In 312 

Since Robb'd of all that Charm'd my 

View 322 

Strephon and Lydia 316 

Tak your Auld Cloak about ye 321 

Tarry Woo ^06 

The Banks of Forth . 310 

The Banks of the Tweed 294 

The Beds of Sweet Roses 205 

The Black Eagle 329 

The Blaithrie o't 302 

The Blithesome Bridal 309 

The Bonny Brucket Lassie 310 

The Bridal o't 331 

The Bush aboon Traquair 311 

The Captive Ribband 3-r 

The Collier's Bonny Lassie 307 

The Ewie wi' the Crooked Horn 334 

The Flowers of Etlinburgh 297 

The Gaberlunzie Man 328 

The Gentle Swain 303 



CONTENTS. 



29 



PAGE 

The Happy Marriage 300 

The Highland Character 327 

The Highland Queen 293 

The Lass of Livingston 299 

The Lass of Patie's Mill 300 

The Last Time I Came o'er the Moor 299 

The Maid that Tends the Goats 305 

Then, Guidwife, Count the Lawin' 336 

The Posie , 304 

There's Nae Luck about the House 306 

The Shepherd's Preference 332 

The Soger Laddie 33^ 

The Tears I Shed must ever Fall 338 

The Tears of Scotland 318 

The Turnimspike 301 

The Wauking o' the Fauld 314 

The Young Man's Dream 317 

This is no my Ain House 328 



PAGE 

To Daunton Me 324 

Todlen Hame 332 

To the Rosebud 338 

Tranent Muir 315 

Tullochgorum 333 

Tune your Fiddles, &c 325 

Tweed-side 303 

Up and Warn a', Willie 325 

Waly, Waly 319 

Werena my Heart Light I wad Die 317 

When I upon thy Bosom Lean 326 

Where wad Bonny Annie Lie ? 336 

Will ye go to the Ewe-Bughts, Marion., . . 313 

Ye Gods, was Strephon's Pi<'**ve Blest ?.. . 322 
Young Damon ,..«.>.«t 322 



THE 



POETICAL WORKS 



ROBERT BURNS. 



TRAGIC FRAGMENT. 

The following- lines are thus introduced by 
Burns in one of his manuscripts, printed in 
'■ Cromek's ReHques :" — " In my early years 
nothing less would serve me than courting 
the tragic muse. I was, I think, about 
eighteen or nineteen when I sketched the 
outlines of a tragedy, forsooth ; but the 
bursting of a cloud of family misfortunes, 
which had for some time threatened us, 
prevented my further progress. In those 
days I never wrote down anything ; so, ex- 
cept a speech or two, the whole has es- 
caped my memory. The above, which I 
most distinctly remember, was an exclama- 
tion from a great character— great in occa- 
sional instances of generosity, and daring at 
times in villanies. He is supposed to meet 
with a child of misery, and exclaims to him- 
self, as in the words of the fragment" :— 

All devil as I am, a damned wretch, 

A harden'd, stubborn, unrepenting vil- 
lain. 

Still my heart melts at hitman wretch- 
edness ; 

And ^vith sincere, though unavailing 
sighs, 

I view the helpless children of distress. 

With tears indignant I behold the op- 
pressor [tion, 

Rejoicing in the honest man's destruc- 

Whose unsubmitting heart was all his 
crime. 

Even you, ye helpless crew, I pity you; 

Ye, whom the seeming good think sin 
to pity ; [bonds, 

Ye poor, despised, abandon'd vaga- 

Whom vice, as usual, has turn'd o'er 
to ruin* 



—Oh, but for kind, though ill-requir. 

ed, friends, [lorn., 

I had been driven forth like you for- 

The most detested, worthless wretcli 

among you ! 
injured God ! Thy goodness lias eii- 
dow'd me [peers. 

With talents passing most of my com- 
Wliich I in just proportion have al:)useu 
As far surpassing other common vil- 
lains, 
As Thou in natural parts hadst given 
me more. 



THE TORBOLTON LASSES. 

The two following poems, written at different 
times, give a list of the eligible damsels vj. 
the poet's neighborhood : — 

If ye gae up to yon hill-tap, 
Ye'll there see bonny Peggy; 

She kens her faither is a laird. 
And she forsooth's a leddy. 

There Sophy tight, a lassie bright. 
Besides a handsome fortune : 

Wha canna win her in a night. 
Has little art in courting. 

Gae down by Faile, and taste the ale, 

And tak a look o' Mysie ; 
She's dour^ and din, a deil within. 

But a;l)lins-' she may please ye. 



J Obstinate. 



Perhaps. 



84 



BURNS' WORKS. 



If she be shy, her sister try, 

le'll maybe fancy Jeuuy, 
\f ye' 11 dispense wi' want o' sense — 

She kens hersel she's bonny. 
As ye gae up by yon hillside, 

Sjjeer' in for bonny Bessy; 
She'll gie ye a beck,"- and bid ye licht, 

And handsomely address ye. 
There's few sae bonnie, nane saeguid, 

In a' King George' Dominion ; 
If ye should doubt the truth o' this — 

It's Bessy's ain opinion. 

In Torbolton, ye ken, there are proper 

young men, 

And proper young lassies and a', man ; 

But ken ye the Ronalds that live in the 

Bennals, [man. 

They carry the gree^ frae them a'. 

Their father's a laird, and weel he can 

spare 't, [man. 

Braid money to tocher* them, a'. 

To 1? roper young men, he'll clink in the 

hand 

Gow d guineas a hunder or twa, man. 

'There's ane they ca' Jean, I'll warrant 

ye've seen 

As bonny a lass or as braw, man ; 

But for sense and guid taste she'll vie 

wi' the best, [man. 

And a conduct that beautifies a', 

The charms o' the min', they langer 

they shine, [man; 

The mair admiration they draw, 

While peaches and cherries, and roses 

and lilies, 

They fade and they wither awa, man. 

If ye be for Miss Jean, tak this frae a 
frien', 
A hint o' a rival or twa, man. 
The Laird o' Blackbyre wad gang 
through the fire. 
If that wad entice her awa, man. 

The Laird o' Braehead has been on his 

speed, [man ; 

For mair than a towmond^ or twa, 

The Laird o' the Ford will straught on 

a board, "^ 

If he canna get her at a', man. 



1 Ask or call. ^ Bow. 3 Palm. * Portion, 
s Twelvemonth. ^ Die and be stretched on 
a board. 



Then Anna comes in, the i)iide o' her 
kin, 
The boast of our bachelors a', man; 
Bae sonsy' and sweet, sae fully coni' 
plete, 
She steals our affections awa, man. 

If I should detail the pick and the 

wale"^ 

O' lasses, that live here awa, man, 

The fault wad be mine, if they didna 

shine, [man. 

The sweetest and best o' them a', 

I lo'e her-mysei, but darena weel tell. 
My i^overty keeps me in awe, man, 

For making o' rhymes, and working at 
times. 
Does little or naething a,t a', man. 

Yet I wadna choose to let her refuse, 

Nor hae't in her power to say na, 

man; [scuic. 

For though I be poor, unnoticed, ob- 

My stomach's as proud as them a', 

man. 

Tho'.' jh I canna ride in weel booted 

pride, [inan, 

And fiee o'er the hills like a craw, 

I can hand up my head Avith the best o' 

the breed, 

Though fluttering ever so braw, man. 

My coat and my vest, they are Scotch 

o' the best, ^ [man, 

O' pairs o' guid breeks I hae twa, 

And stockings and pumps to put on m.y 

stumps, [man. 

And ne'er a wrang steek in them a', 

My sarks^ they are few, but five o' 

them new, [man, 

Twal' hundred,"^ as white as the snav/, 

A ten-shilling hat, a Holland cravat: 

There are no mony poets sae braw, 

man. 

I never had frien's weel stockit in 
means, 
To leave me a hundred or twa, man; 
Nae weel-tocher'd aunts, to wait on ; 
their drants," 
And wish them in hell for it a', man. 



"^ Comely. ^ Choice. 
» Shirts. " A kind of cloth, ^i Humors. 



POEMS. 



35 



I' never was caiinie'^ for lioarding o' 

money, 

Or clauglitin't^^ together at a', man, 

I've little to spend, and naetliing to 

lend. 

But deevil a sliilling''^ I awe, man. 



WINTER. 

A DIRGE. 

Winter? a Dirgfe," was copied into Bums's 
Commonplace Book in April, 1784, and pre- 
faced with the following reflections :—" As 
1 am what the men of the world, if they 
knew such a man, would call a whimsical 
mortal, I have various sources of pleasure 
and enjoyment, which are in a manner 
peculiar to myself, or some here and there 
such out-of-the-way person. Such is the 
peculiar pleasure I take in the season of 
Winter more than the rest of the year. This, 
I believe, may be partly owing to my mis- 
fortunes giving my mind a melancholy cast ; 
but there is something even in the 

^ Mighty tempest, and the heavy waste, 
Abrupt, and deep, stretch'd o'er the buried 
earth,' 

which raises the mind to a serious sublimity 
favorable to everything great and noble. 
There is scarcely any earthly object gives 
me more — I do not know if I should call it 
pleasure — but something which cxaks inc — 
something which enraptures me— than to 
walk m the sheltered side of a wood, or high 
plantation, in a cloudy v.'inter-day, and 
hear the stormy wind howling among the 
trees and raving over the plain. It is my 
best season for devotion : my mind is wrapt 
up in a kind of enthusiasm to Him, who, in 
the pompous language of the Hebrew bard, 
'Walks on the wings of the wind.' In one 
of these seasons, just after a train of misfor- 
tunes, I composed the following:"— 

TiiE vrintry west extends his blast, 

And hail and rain does blaw; [forth 
Or, the stormy north sends driving 

The blinding sleet and snaw; [down, 
While tumbling brown, the burn comes 

And roars frae bank to brae; 
And bird and beast in covert rest, 

And pass the heartless day. 

" The sweeping blast, the sky o'er- 
cast,"* 

The joyless winter- day, 
Let others fear, to me more dear 

Than all the pride of May : 



*' Careful. i3 Gathering greedily. i< Owe. 
* Dr. Young. 



The tempest's howl, it soothes my soul. 

My griefs it seems to join; 
The leafless trees my fancy please. 

Their fate resembles mine ! 

Thou Power Supreme, whose mighty 
scheme 

Those woes of mine fulfil. 
Here, firm, I rest, they must be best, 

Because they are Thy will ! 
Then all I want i^oh, do Thou grant 

This one request of mine !) 
Since to enjoy Thou dost deny. 

Assist me to resign. 



A PRAYER, 

UNDER THE PRESSURE OP VIOLENT^ 
ANGUISH. 

In the Commonplace Book already alluded to 
the following melancholy note accompanies 
this Poem : — " There was a certain period 
•^ my life that my spirit was broken by re- 
peated losses and disasters, which threat- 
ened, and indeed effected, the utter ruin of 
my fortune. My body, too, was attacked by 
that "most dreadful distemper, a hypochon- 
dria, or confirmed melancholy. In this 
wretched state, the recollection of which 
makes me yet shudder, I hung my harp on 
the willow trees, except in some lucid inter- 
vals, in one of which I composed this 
Prayer:" — 

Thou great Being ! what Thou art 

Surpasses me to know: 
Yet sure I am, that known to Thee 

Are all Thy works below. 
Thy creature here before Thee stands, 

All wretched and distrest; 
Yet sure those ills that wring my soul 

Obey thy high behest. 
Sure Thou, Almighty, canst not act 

From cruelty or wrath ! 
Oh, free my weary eyes from tears, 

Or close them fast in death ! 
But if I must afflicted be, 

To suit some wise design; 
Then man my soul with firm resolves, 

To bear and not repine ! 



THE DEATH AND DYING WORDS 
OF POOR MAILIE. 

THE author's only PET YOWE. 

{An Unco 3fournfu' Tale.) 
As Mailie and her lambs thegither 
Was ae day nibbling on the tether. 



er, 



BURNS' wonK3, 



Upon her cloot slie coost a hitch, 
And owre she warsled' in the ditch; 
There, groaning, dying, slie did lie, 
Wlien Hugiioc he cam doytin"'^ by, 
Wi' glowring een, and hlted han's, 
Poor Hughoc lilce a statue Stan's; [ed, 
He saw her days were near-hand end- 
But, waes my heart! he couldna mend 

it! 
[le gaped wide, but naetliing spak — 
kt length poor Mailie silence brak: — 

" thou, whase lamentable face 
Appears to mourn my woefn' case! 
My dying words attentive hear, 
And bear them to my master dear. 
Tell him, if e'er again lie keep 
As muckle gear as buy a slioep, 
Oh, bid him never tie them mair 
Wi' wicked strings o' hemp or hair! 
But ca' them out to park or hill. 
And let them wander at their will; 
So may his flock increase, and grow 
To scores o' lambs, and packs o' woo' ! 

" Tell him he was a master kin', 
And aye was guid to me and mine; 
And now my dying charge I giehim — 
My helpless lambs I trust them wi' him. 
" Oh, bid him save their harmless 

lives [knives! 

Frae^ dogs, and tods, and butchers' 
But gie them guid cow-milk their fill. 
Till they be fit to fend themsel; 
And tent them duly, e'en and morn 
Wi' teats o' hay, and ripps o' corn, 
"And may they never learn tlie 

gaets^ 
Of ither vile, wanrestfu'^ pets! [steal 
To Slink througli slaps, and reave and 
At stacks o' peas or stocks o' kail. 
So may they, like their great forbears, 
For mony a year come through the 

shears; 
So wives will gie them bits o' bread, 
And bairns greet" for them v/hen 

they're dead. [heir, 

' " My poor toop-lamb, my son and 
Oh, bid liim breed him up wi' care! 
And if he live to be a beast. 
To pit some havins'' in his breast! 
And warn him, Avhat I winna name. 
To stay content wi' yowes at hame; 
And no to rin and wear his clouts,* 



^ Struggled. 2 Walking Stupidly. 
* Habits. 5 Restless. oWeep. ^Gc 



„„ ..- , , ^. 'From. 

Habits. 5 Restless. Weep. ^ Good sense. 
■• Clouts, clothes or rags, with reference to 



Like ither menseless,^ graceless brutes. 

" And neist my yowie, silly thing, 
Guid keej) xhe frae a tether string! 
Oh, may thou ne'er forgather up 
WV ony blastit,f moorland toop, 
But aye keep mind to moop and mell, 
Wi' sheep o' credit like thysel! 

" And now, my bairns, wi' my lasfc 
breath 
I lea'e my blessin' wi' you baith: 
And when you think upo' 3-our mither 
Mind to be kin' to ane anither. 

"Now, honest Ilughoc, dinna fail 
To tell my master a' my talc; 
And bid him burn this curnt-d tether, 
And, for thy joains, thou's get my 

blether. "9 
This said, poor Mailie turned lier head, 
And closed her een amang the dead. 

THE ELEGY. 
Lament in rhyme, lament in prose, 
Wi' saut tears trickling down your 

nose: 
Our bardie's fate is at a close, 
Past a' remead; 
The last sad cape-stane of his v.'oes; 

Poor Mailie's dead ! 
It's no the loss o' warl's gear. 
That could sae bitter draw the tear. 
Or niak our bardie, doAvie, wear 

The mourning weed; 
He's lost a friend and neibor dear 

In jMailie dead. 
Through a' the toun'i^ she trotted by 

liim; 
A Lang half-mile she could descry him; 
Wi' kindly bleat, when she did spy 
him 

She ran wi' speed: 
A friend mair faithfu' ne'er cam nigh 
him 

Than Mailie dead. 
I wat she was a sheep o' sense, 
And could behave hersel wi' men3e:'*^ 

8 Senseless. ^ Bladder. ^'^ Decorum, 
a piece of clothing with which rams are cum- 
bered at certain seasons, for a purpose which 
will hardly bear full explanation. Mr. Smith, 
in his recent edition of the poet's worlds, 
misled by tlie usual spelling cf the word-c/oois, 
which means hoofs or feet, and being appar- 
ently ignorant of this custom, robs the allusioH 
of ail its broad humor. 

t A contemptuous term. 

* Round the farm. 



POEMS. 



3T 



ril say't, slie never brak a fence 

Through thievish greed. 

Our bardie, lanely, keeps the spencef 
Sin Mailie's dead. 

Or, if he wanders up th^ uowe,^^ 
Her living image in \"-x yowe 
Comes bleatinx>- ^ him, owre the 
knowe,^'^ 

For bits o' bread; 
And down the briny pearls rowe 
For Mailie dead. 

She was nae get o' moorland tips, 
Wi' tawted ket/^ and hairy hips; 
For her forbears were brought in ships 

Frae yont the Tweed: 
A bonnier fleesli ne'er cross'd the clips 

Than xAIailie dead, j-^^^^^^ 

Wae worth the man wha first did 
That vile, wanchancie^-* thing — a rape! 
It maks guid fellows girn an' gape,:}: 

Wi' chokin' dread; 
And Robin's bonnet wave wi' crape. 

For Mailie dead. 

Oil, a' ye bards on bonny Doon! 
And wha on Ayr your chanters tune ! 
Come, join the melancholious croon 

O' Robins reed! 
His heart will never get aboon 

His Mailie dead. 



O WHY THE DEUCE SHOULD I 
REPINE. 

The following is said to have been written 
extempore : — 

WHY the deuc; should I repine. 
And be an ill foreboder? 

I'm twenty-three, and five feet nine — 
I'll go and be a sodger. 

1 gat some gear wi meikle care, 

I held it weel thegither; [mair — 

But now it's gane, and something 
I'll go and be a sodger. 



THE BELLES OF MAUCHLINE. 

In ISIauchline there dwells six proper 

young belles, [bourhood a'; 

The pride o' the place and its neigh - 



11 Deli. 12 Knoll, is Matted fleece. iiUnlucky. 

+ Shuts himself up in the parlor with his 
sorrow. 

$ Grin and g-acp— an allusion to hanging. 



Their carriage and dress, a stranger 
would guess. 
In Lon'on or Paris they'd gotten it a'. 

Miss Miller is fine, Miss Markham'3 

divine, [Betty is braw; 

Miss Smith she has wit, and Mis9 

There's beauty and fortune to get wi' 

Miss Morton, [them a'. 

But Armour's the jewel for me o' 



A PRAYER 

IN THE PROSPECT OF DEATH. 

" This ' Prayer' and the ' Stanzas,' which fol- 
low.," the poet wrote in his Commonpla.c? 
Book, " were composed when fainting fits., 
and other alarming symptoms of pleurisy 
or some other dangerous disorder, whicU 
indeed still threatens me, first put natura 
on the alarm. The stanzas are misgivings 
in the hour of despondency and prospect ot 
death. The grand end of human life is to 
cultivate an intercourse with that Being tJ 
whom we owe life with every enjoymen; 
that renders Ufe delightful." 

Thou unlvnown, Almighty Cause 

Of all my hope and fear, 
In whose dread presence, ere an hour. 

Perhaps I must appear! 
If I have wander'd in those paths 

Of life I ought to shun ; 
As something, loudly, in my breast. 

Remonstrates I have done; 
Thou kuow'st that thou hast form'd 
me 

With passions wild and strong; 
And listening to their witching voice 

Has often led me wrong. 
Where human weakness has coma 
short. 

Or frailty stept reside. 
Do Thou, All -good! for such Thou art, 

In shades of darkness hide. 
Where with intention I have err'd. 

No other plea I have, 
But, Thou art good; and goodness stil) 

Delighteth to forgive. 



STANZAS. 

ON THE SAME OCCASION. 

Why am I loth to leave this earthly 

scene? [charing 

Have I so found it full of pleasing 

Some drops of joy with draughts of ill 

between; [newing storms 

Some gleams of sunshine 'mid re' 



S8 



BURNS' WORKS. 



Is it departing pangs my soul alarms? 
Or death's unlovely, dreary, dark 
abode? [arms; 

For guilt, for guilt, my terrors are in 
I tremble to approach an angry God, 
And justly smart beneath His sin- 
avenging rod. 

Fain would I say, "Forgive my foul 
offence!" 
Fain promise never more to disobey; 
But should my Author health again 

dispense. 
Again I might desert fair Virtue's way; 
Again in folly's path might go astray; 
Again exalt the brute and sink the 
man; [pray. 

Then how should I for heavenly mercy 
Who act so counter heavenly mer- 
cy's plan? 
Who sin so oft have mourn'd, yet to 
temptation ran. 

O Thou great Governor of all below ! 
If I may dare a lifted eye to Thee, 
Thy nod can make the tempest cease 
to blow. 
Or still the tumult of the raging sea; 
With that controlling power assist 
even me, [confine. 

Those headlong furious passions to 
For all unfit I feel my powers to be, 
To rule their torrent in the allow'd 
line: [tence Divine. 

Oh, aid me with Thy help, Omnipo- 



THE FIRST PSALM. 

The man, in life wherever placed. 

Hath happiness in store, 
Who walks not in the wicked's way. 

Nor learns their guilty lore. 

Nor from the seat of scornful pride 
Casts forth his eyes abroad. 

But with humility and awe 
Still walks before his God. 

That man shall flourish like the trees. 
Which by the streamlets grow; 

The fruitful top is spread on high. 
And firm the root belov/, 

But he whose blossom buds in guilt. 
Shall to the ground be cast, 

Aiid, like the rootless sii>bl)le, tost 
Before the sweeping blast. 



For why? that God the good adore. 
Hath given them peace and rest. 

But hath decreed that Avicked men 
Shall ne'er be truly blest. 



THE FIRST SIX VERSES OF THB 

NINETIETH PSALM. 
O Thou, the first, the greatest friend 

Of all the human race! 
Whose strong right hand has ever been 

Their stay and dwelling-place! 

P-efore the mountains heaved theij 
heads 

Beneath Thy forming hand. 
Before this ponderous globe itself. 

Arose at Thy command; 

That power which raised and still up 
holds 

This universal frame. 
From countless unbeginning time 

Was ever still the same. 

Those mighty periods of years 

Which seem to us so vast. 
Appear no more before Thy sight 

Than yesterday that's past. 

Thou givest the word; Thy creature, 
man, 

Is to existence brought, 
Again Thou say'st, " Ye sons of men 

Return ye into nought !' 

Thou lay est them with all their cares. 

In everlasting sleep; 
As with a flood Thou takest them off 

With overwhelming sweep. 

They flourish like the morning flower,. 

In beauty's pride array'd; 
But long ere night cut down, it lien 

All wither'd and decay'd.. 



ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF ROB 

ERT RUISSEAUX. 

This fragment was iound by Cromek among 
the poet's manuscripts. Ruisseaux— a trans- 
lation of his own name— is French for 
rivulets. 

Now Robin lies in his last lair. 

He'll gabble rhyme nor sing nae mair, 

Cauld poverty, wi' hungry stare, 

Nae mair shall fear him; 
Nor anxious fear, nor canlcert care, 

E'er mair come near him, 



i^EMS. 



To tell tlie truth, they seldom fasht him. 

Except the moment that they crusht 

him: ['em, 

For sune as chance or fate had liiisht 

Though e'er sae short, 
Then wi' a rhyme or song he lasht 'em, 

And thought it sport. 

Though he was bred to kintra wark, 
And counted was baith wight and stark. 
Yet that it Vv-as never Robin's mark 

To mak a man ; 
But tell him he was learn'd and dark, 

Ye roosed him than ! 



VAUCHLINE BELLES. 

O'^ .eave novels, ye Mauchline belles ! 

Te'er safer at your spinning wheel; 
Such witching books are baited hooks 

For rakish rooks like Rob J^.Iossgiel. "" 

Your fine Tom Jones and Grandisons, 

They make your youthful fancies 

reel; [brains. 

They heat your veins, and fire your 

[giel. 

And then ye're prey for Rob Moss- 
Beware a tongue that's smoothly hung, 

A heart that warmly seems to feel ; 
That feeling heart but acts a part — 

'Tis rakish art in Rob Mossgiel. 

The frank address, the soft caress, 
Ai-e worse than poison'd hearts of 
steel; 

The frank address and politesse 
Are all finesse in Rob Mossgiel. 



DEATH AND DR. HORNBOOK. 

A TRUE STORY. 

* Death and Dr. Hornbook," says Gilbert 
Burns, " though not pubhshed in the Kil- 
marnock edition, was produced early in the 
year 1785. The schoolmaster of Torbolton 
parish, to eke out the scanty subsistence 
allowed to that useful class of men, set up a 
shop of grocery goods. Having accident- 
ally fallen in with some medical books, and 
become most hobby-horsically attached to 
the study of medicine, he had added the sale 
of 'a few medicines to his little trade. He 
had got a shop-bill printed, at the bottom of 
which, overlooking his own incapacity, he 
had advertised that advice would be given 
in common disorders, at the shop gratis! 



♦ Rob Mossgiel— Robert Burns of Mossgiel. 



Robert was at a mason-meeting iu Torbol- 
ton, when the dominie made too ostenta- 
tious a display of his medical skill. As he 
parted in the evening from this mixture of 
pedantry and physic at the place where he de- 
scribes his meeting with Death, one of those 
floating ideas of apparitions mentioned in 
his letter to Dr. Moore crossed his mind ; 
this set him to work for the rest of his way 
home. These circumstances he related when 
he repeated the verses to me the next after- 
noon, as I was holding the plough, and lie 
was letting the water off the field beside 
me." 
The mirth and amusement occasioned by the 
publication of the poem drove the school- 
master out of the district, and he became 
session-clerk of the Gorbals parish, Glas- 
gov/, and died there in 1839. 

Some books are lies f ra end to end 
And some great lies were never penn'd; 
E'en ministers, they hae been kenn'd, 

In holy rapture, 
A rousing whid' at times to vend, 

2Vnd nail't wi' Scripture 

But this that I am gaun^ to tell. 
Which lately on a night befell. 
Is just as true's the deil's in hell 

Or Dublin city: 
That e'er he nearer conies oursel 

'S a muckle pity. 

The clachan yilP had made me canty, 
I wasna fou, but just had plenty; [avft 
I stacher'd'^ whiles,^ but yet took tent 

To free the ditches; [ayo 
And hillocks, stanes and bushes kenn'd 

Frae ghaists and witches. 

The rising moon began to glower^ 
The distant Cumnock hills out-owre; 
To count her horns, wi' a' my power, 

I set mysel; 
But whether she had three or four, 

I couldna tell. 

I was come round about the hill, 
And todlin''' down on Willie's mill,* 
Setting my staff wi' a' my skill. 

To keep me sicker:^ [will 
Though leeward whiles, against my 

I took a bicker.^ 

I there wi' something did forgather. 
That put me in an eerie swither;^^ 

1 Lie. 2. Going. 3 Village ale. •* Staggered. 
6 Sometimes. « Stare. '' Tottering. ^ Steady. 
* Short race. J*' An uncertain fear. 

* Torbolton Mill, then occupied by Williaoi 
Muir, an intimate friend of the Burns family 
—hence called Willie's mill. 



40 



B(7KNS WORKS. 



/Vu awfu' scythe, out-owre ae sliouther, 
Clear-dangling, hang; 

A three-taedliester^^ on tlie ither 
Lay large and lang. 

Its stature seem'd lang Scotch ells twa, 
n he queerest shape that e'er I saw. 
For fient a wame'- it had ava; 

And then its shanks, 
They were as thin, as sharp and sma', 

As checks o' branks.* 

*' Guid-een," quo' I; "friend, hae ye 

been maw-in' , 
\Mien ither folk are busy sawin'?"f 
It seemed to mak a kind o' stan', 
but nacthing spak; 
At length, says I, ' ' Friend, vv-hare yc 
gaun V 

Will ye go back ?" 

It spak right ho we, ^-^ — "My name h 
Death; [faith, 

But be na fley'd,"^"^ — Quoth I, " Guid 
Ye're maybe come to st^ip my breath; 

But tent me, billie; 
I red'^ ye weel, take care o' skaith,^'' 

See, there's a gully I"^'' 

■' Gruid man," quo' he, " put up your 

whittle, 
I'm no design'd to try its mettle; 
But if 1 did, I wad be kittle^** 

To be mislear'd,^* 
I wad na mind it, no that spittle 

Out-owre my beard." 

" Weel, weel !" says I, " a bargain be't ; 
Come, gies your hand, and sae we're 

gree't; 
We'll ease our shanks'^^ and tak a seat — 

Come, gies your news; 
This while :}: ye hae been mony a gate,-' 

At mony a house." 

•■' Ay, ay, !" quo' he, and shook his 

head, 
" It's e'en a lang, lang time indeed 



" A fishspear. 
12 Belly. 13 Hollow, i* Frightened. !» Warn. 
»6 Harm. ^^ Clasp-knife, i" I might be tempted. 
*8 Mischievous, ^o Limbs. '^^ Road. 

* A kind of bridle. 

+ This rencounter happened in seed-time of 
1785.— B. 

t An epidemic fever was then raging in that 
Couuury,.— B. 



Sin' I began to nick the thread 

And choke the breath: [bread, 
Folk maun do something for theii 
And sae maun Death. 

"Sax thousand years are near hand 

fled 
Sin' I was to the butchering bred, [laid, 
xVnd mony a scheme in vain's been 

To .stap or scar me; 
Till ane Hornbook's ta'en up the trade. 
And faith he'll waur me. 

' 'Ye ken Jock Hornbook i' the clachan, 

Deil mak his king's-hood in a spleu- 

chan !-'- [Buchan ^ 

He's grown sae weel acquaint with 

And ither chaps, [laughin', 

The weans-^ hand out their fingers 

And pouk my hips.^"* 

" Geo, here's a scythe, and there's a 

dart. 
They hae pierced mony a gallant hear t; 
But Doctor Hornbook, \ i his art; 

And cursed skill, 
Has made them baith no worth a f — t, 

Damn'd haet they'll kill. 

'"Twas but yestreen, nae farther gaen, 

I threw a noble throw at ane; 

Wi' less, I'm sure, I've hundreds slain; 

But deil ma care. 
It just play'd dirl on the bane, 

But did nae mair. 

' ' Hornbook was by, wi' ready art, 
And had sae fortified the part. 
That when I looked to my dart, 

It was sae blunt, [lieart 
Fient haet o't wad hae pierced the 

0' a kail-runt.-^ 

" I drew my scythe in sic a fury, 
I near-hand cowpif-*^ wi' my hurry. 
But yet the bauld apothecary 

Withstood the shock; 
I might as weel hae tried a quarry 

0' hard whin rock. 

' ' Even them he canna get attended. 
Although their face he ne'er had kenu'd 

it. 
Just sh — e in a kail -blade and send it, 

s'' Tobacco-pouch. 23 Children. 24 piucl< 
at his hams — show their contempt for hira. 
•^ Cabbage-stalk. 2« Tumbled over. 

§ Buchan's Dotnestic Medicine.— B. 



POEMS. 



41 



As soons lie siiiells't, 
Baitli tlieir disease and what will mend 
it 

At auce he tells't. 

*' And then a doctor's saws and whittles. 
Of a' dimensions, shapes, and metals, 
A' kinds o' boxes, mugs, and bottles 

He's sure to hae; 
Their Latin names as fast he rattles 

As A B C. 

" Calces o' fossils, earths, and trees; 
True salmarinum o' the seas; 
The farina of beans and peas, 

He has't in plenty; 
Aquafontis, what you please, 

He can content ye. 

" Forbye some new, uncommon weap- 
ons, 
Urinus spiritus of capons; [ings, 

Or mite-horn shavings, filings, scrap- 

Distill'd per se; 
Salalkali o' midge-tail clippings, 

And mony mae. " 

*' Waes me for Johnnie Ged's * hole 

noo'," 
Quo' I, if that thae news be true ! 
His braw calf- ward f whare gowans-'' 
grew, 

Sae white and bonnie, 
Nae doubt they'll rive it wi'thepleugh; 
They'll ruin Johnnie !" 

The creature grain'd an eldritch"^^ laugh. 
And says, ' 'Ye needna yoke the pleugh. 
Kirk-yards will soon be till'd eneugh, 

Tak ye nae fear. 
They'll a' be trench'd wi' mony a 

sheugh-'* 

In twa-three year. 

*' Whare I kill'd ane a fair strae death, 
By loss o' blood or want o' breath. 
This night I'm free to tak mv aith, 

That Hornbook's skill 
Has clad a score i' their last claitli, 

By drap and pill. 

•' An honest wabster to his trade, 
Whase wife's twa nieves were scarce 
; weehbred. 



27 Daisies, ^sunearthly. -» Furrow. 
*The grave-digger. 

t The church-yard had been sometimes used 
as an enclosure for calves. 



Gat tippence-worth to mend her head 
When it was sair; 

The wife slade cannie to her bed. 
But ne'er spak mair. 

" A country laird had ta'en the batts. 
Or some curmurring in his guts, 
His only son for Hornbook sets. 

And pays him well; 
The lad, for twa guid gimmer-pets,^° 

Was laird himsel. 

*' A bonnie lass, ye kenn'd her name, 
Some iil-brewn drinli had hoved hel 

wame 
She trusts hersel, to hide the shame, 

In Hornbook's care; 
Horn sent her aff to her lang liame. 

To hide it there. 

"That's just a swatch o' Hornbook's 

way; 
Thus goes he on from day to day, 
Thus does he poison, kill, and slay, 

An's weel paid for't; 
Yet stops me o' my lawfu' prey 

Wi' his damn'd dirt: 

' ' But hark ! I'll tell you of a plot. 
Though dinna ye be speaking o't; 
I'll nail the self-conceited sot, 

As dead's a herrin'; 
Neist time we meet, I'll wad a groat, 

He's got his fairin'!"-^^ 

But just as he began to tell, 

The auld kirk hammer strak the bell 

Some wee short hour ayont the twal, 

Which raised us baith: 
I took the way that pleased mysel. 

And sae did Death. 



THE TWA HERDS ; OR, THE 

HOLY TULZIE. 

The Twa Herds were the Rev. John Russell 
assistant minister of Kilmarnock, and after^ 
wards minister at Stirling, and the Rev. 
Alexander Moodie, parish minister at Riccar- 
ton, two zealous " Auld-Licht" men, mem- 
bers of the clerical party to whom Burns 
was opposed on all occasions. They had 
quarrelled over some question of parish 
boundaries ; and in the presbytery, where 
the question had come up for settlement, 
they fell foul of each other after the manner 
of the wicked and ungodly. Mr. Lockhart 
says : — " There, in the open court, to which 
the announcement of the discussion hao 



' " Young ewes. 



Deserts, 



42 



BURNS' WORKS. 



drawn a multitude of the country-people, 
and Burns among- the rest, the reverend 
divines, hitherto sworn friends and associ- 
ates, lost all command of temper, and abused 
each other coram populo^ with a fiery viru- 
lence of personal invective such as has long- 
been banished from all popular assemblies 
wherein the laws of courtesy are enforced 
by those of a certain unwritten code." 
Burns seized the opportunity, and in "The 
Twa Herds" gave his version of the affair. 
It is only justice to the poet to mention, 
that he did not include this poem in any of 
the editions of his works published during 
his lifetime. 
" Blockheads with reason wicked wits 

abhor ; 
But fool with fool is barbarous civil 

war." — Pope. 

Oh, a' ye pious godly flocks, 
Weel fed on pastures orthodox, 
Wlia now A\dll keep you frae the fox, 

Or worrying tylves,^ 
Orwha will tent the waifs and crocks,- 

About the dikes? 

The twa best herds in a' the wast, 
That e'er gae gospel horn a blast, 
These five and twenty simmers past, 

Oh! dool totell, 
Hae had a bitter black outcast^ 

Atween themsel. 

O Moodie man, and wordy Russell, 
How could you raise so vile a bustle. 
Yell see how New-Light herds will 
whistle, 

And think it fine: 
The Lord's cause ne'er gat sic a twistle 

Sin' I hae min'. 

sirs ! whae'er wad hae expeckit, 

Your duty ye wad sae negleckit. 

Ye wha were ne'er by lairds respeckit, 

To wear the plaid, 
But by the brutes themselves eleckit, 

To be their guide. 

What flock wi' Hoodie's flock could 

rank, 
Sae hale and hearty every shank ? 
Nae poison'd sour Arminian stank 

He let them taste. 
Frae Calvin's well, aye clear, they 
drank, — 

Oh, sic a feast ! 

The thnmmart,^ wil'-cat, brock, ^ and 
tod,** 

' Dogs. 2 Stray sheep and old ewes. 
» Jl^uarrel. ^ Pole-cat. ^ Badger. « Fox. 



Weel kenn'd his voice through a' the 

wood, 
He smelt their ilka hole and road, 

Balth out and in, 
And weel he liked to shed their bluid. 
And sell their skin. 

What herd like Russell tell'd his tale, 
His voice was heard through muir and 

dcJe, 
He kenn'd the Lord's sheep, ill?:a tail , 

O'er a' the height, 
And saw gin they were sick or hale, 
At the fii-st sight. 

He fine a mangy sheep could scrub. 
Or nobly swing the gospel -club. 
And New-Light herds could nicely 
drub. 

Or pay their skin; [dub, 
Could shake them owre the burning 

Or heave them in. 

Sic twa — oh ! do I live to see't. 
Sic famous twa should disagreet. 
And names lilve "villain," "liypcK 
crite," 

Hk ither gi'en, 
WHiiile Now-Light herds, wi' laughin' 
spite. 

Say neither's liein'!"" 

A' ye wha tent the gospel fauld, 
There's Duncan/"' deep, and Peebles, f 

shaul,* 
But chiefly thou, apostle Auld,:j: 

We trust in thee, 
That thou wilt work them, het and 
cauld. 

Till they agree. 

Consider, sirs, how we're beset. 
There's scarce a new herd that we get 
But comes frae 'mang that cursed set 

I winna name; 
I hope frae heaven to see them yet 

In fiery flame. 
Dalrymple § has been lang our fae, 

' Lying-. ^ Shallow. 

* Dr. Robert Duncan, ininister of Dundor>= 
aid. 

+ Rev. William Peebles, of Newton-upon 
Ayr. 

X Rev. William Auld, minister of Mauch.. 
line. 

§ Rev. Dr. Dalrymple, one of the ministerl 
of Ayr. 



POEMS; 



43 



M,Gill II has wrought us meikle-wae, 
And that cursed rascal ca'd M'Quhae,^ 

And baith the Shaws,^* 
That aft hae made us black and blae, 

Wi' veugefu' paws. 

Auld Wodrowf f laug has hatched mis- 
chief, 
We thought aye death wad bring relief, 
But he has gotten, to our grief, 

Ane to succeed him, 
A. chiel wha'll soundly. buff our beef; 

I meikle dread him. 

And mony a ane that I could tell, 
Wha fain would openly rebel, 
Forbye turn-coats amang oursel; 

There's Smith for ane, 
I doubt he's but a gray-nick quill, 

And that ye'll fin'. 

Oh! a' ye flocks o'er a' the hills, 

By mosses, meadows, moors, and fells, 

Come, join your counsel and your skills, 

To cowe the lairds, 
And get the brutes the powers themsels 

To choose their herds. 

Then Orthodoxy yet may prance, 
And Learning in a Avoody^ dance. 
And that fell cur ca'd Common Sense, 

That bites sae sair, 
Be banish'd o'er the sea to France: 

Let him bark there. 

Then Shaw's and D'rymple's eloquence, 
M'Gill's close nervous excellence, 
M'Quhae's pathetic manly sense, 

And guid M'Math, 
Wi' Smith, wha through the heart can 
glance. 

May a' pack aff. 



HOLY WILLIE'S PRAYER. 

The©rig-in of this terrible satire may be briefly 
told as follows : — Gavin Hamilton, the spe- 
cial friend of the poet, had been denied the 
benefit of the ordinances of the church, 
because he was alleged to have made a 
journey on the Sabbath, and to have made 
one of his servants take in some potatoes 
from tne garden on another Sunday— hence 

• the allusion to his "kail and potatoes" in 

» Halter. 

I! Rev. William M'GiU, one of the ministers 
cf Ayr. 

1 Minister of St. Quivox. 

** Dr. Andrew Shaw of Craigie, and Dr. 
David Shaw of Cojdton. 

tt Dr. Peter Wodrow, Torbolton. 



the poem. Wilham Fisher, one of Mr. Auld's 
elders, made himself somewhat conspicuous 
in the case. He was a great pretender to 
sanctity, and a punctilious stickler for 
outward observances. Poor man, he unfor- 
tunately merited the satire of the poet, as 
he was a drunkard, and latterly made too 
free with the church-money in his hands. 
Returning drunk from Mauchline one night, 
he fell into a ditch and died from exposure. 

Thou, wha in the heavens dost dwell, 
Wha, as it pleases best tliysel. 
Sends ane to heaven, and ten to hell, 

A' for thy glory, 
Aiid no for ony guid or ill 

They've done afore thee ! 

1 bless and praise thy matchless might, 
Whan thousands thou hast left in 

night, 
That I am here, afore thy sight, 

For gifts and grace, 
A burnln' and a shinin' light 

To a' this place. 

What was I, or my generation. 
That I should get sic exaltation ? 
I, wha deserve sic just damnation 

For broken laws, 
Five thousand years 'fore my creation. 

Through Adam's cause. 

When frae my mither's womb I fell. 
Thou might hae plunged me into hell, 
To gnash my gums, to weep and wail, 

In burnm' lake, 
Whare damned devils roar and yell. 

Chain' d to a stake. 

Yet I am here a chosen sample. 

To show thy grace is great and ample; 

I'm here a pillar in thy temple, 

Strong as a rock, 
A guide, a buckler, an example. 

To a' thy flock. 

Lord, thou kens what zeal I bear, 
When drinkers drink, and swearers 

swear. 
And singing there, and dancing here, 

Wi' great and sma'; 
For I am keepit by thy fear. 

Free frae them a'. 

But yet, O Lord ! confess I must, 
At times I'm fash'd' wi' fleshy lust; 
And sometimes, too, wi' wardly trusty 
Yile self gets in, 

1 Troubled. 



44 



BURNS' WORKS. 



But thou remembers we are dust, 

Defiled in sin. 
D Lord ! yestreen, thou kens, wi' Meg — 
Thy pardon I sincerely beg, 
Oh, may it ne'er be a livin' plague, 

To my dishonor, 
And I'll ne'er lift a lawless leg 

Again upon her. 
Besides, I farther maun avow, 
Wi' Lizzie's lass, three times 1 trow 
But, Lord, that Friday I was fou' 

When I came near her, 
Or else, thou kens, thy servant true 
Wad ne'er hae steer'd her. 
Maybe thou lets this fleshy thorn 
Beset thy servant e'en and morn, 
Lest he owre high and proud should 
turn, 

'Cause he's sae gifted; 
If sae, thy han' maun e'en be borne 

Until thou lift it. 
Lord, bless thy chosen in this place. 
For here thou hast a chosen race: 
But God confound their stubborn face. 

And blast their name, 
Wha bring thy elders to disgrace 

And public shame. 
Lord, mind Gawn Hamilton's deserts. 
He drinks, and swears, and plays at 

cartes. 
Yet has sae mony takin' arts, 

Wi' grit and sma', 
Frae God's ain priests the people's 
hearts 

He steals awa'. 
And whan we chasten'd him therefore, 
Thou kens how he bred sic a splore,^ 
As set the world in a roar 

O' laughin' at us; — 
Curse thou his basket and his store, 

Kail and potatoes. 
Lord, hear my earnest cry and prayer 
Against the presbyt'ry of Ayr; 
Thy strong right hand, Lord, mak it 
bare 

Upo' their heads. 
Lord, weigh it down, and dinna spare, 

For their misdeeds. 
O Lord, my God, that glib-tongued 
Aiken, ''^ 

2 Disturbance. 
* William Aiken, a lawyer, a friend of the 
poet's. 



My very heart ande saul are quakin , 
To think how we stood groanm'; 
shakin'. 

And spat wi' dread, 
Whi'le he, wi' hangin' lip and snakin',' 

Held up his head. 

Lord, in the day of vengeance try him, 
Lord, visit them wha did employ him, 
And pass not in thy mercy by 'em, 

Nor hear their prayer; 
But for thy people's sake destroy 'em. 

And dinna spare. 

But, Lord, remember me and mine, 
Wi' mercies temp'ral and divine, 
That I for gear and grace may shine, 

Excell'd by nane. 
And a' the glory shall be thine, 

Anien, Amen ! 



EPITAPH ON HOLY WILLIE. 

Here Holy Willie's sair worn clay 

Taks up its last abode; 
His saul has ta'en some other way, 

I fear the left-hand road. 

Stop ! there he is, as sure's a gun. 

Poor silly body, see him ; 
Nae wonder he's as black's the grun, — 

Observe wha's standing wi' him ! 

Your brunstane devilship, I see, 
Has got him there before ye; 

But hand your nine-tail cat a wee,* 
Till ance ye've heard my story. 

Your pity I will not implore. 

For pity ye ha nane ! 
Justice, alas ! has gien him o'er, 

And mercy's day is gane. 

But hear me, sir, deil as ye are, 
Look something to your credit; 

A coof^ like him wad stain your name. 
If it were kent ye did it. 



TO A MOUSE, 

ON TURNING UP HER NEST TV^TH THE 

PLOUGH, NOVEMBER, 1785. 

" The verses to the ' Mouse' and ' Mountain 
Daisy,' " Gilbert Burns says, " wert com- 
posed on the occasions mentioned, and 
while the author was holding the plough: 

3 Sneering. i Little. 2 pooi. 



POEMS. 



45 



I could point out the particular spot where 
each was composed. Holding the plough 
was a favorite situation with Robert for 
poetic compositions, and some of his best 
verses were produced while he was at that 
exercise." 
"John Blane," says Mr. Chambers, " who was 
farm-servant at Mossgiel at the time of its 
composition, still (1838) lives at Kilmarnock. 
He stated to me that he recollected the inci- 
dent perfectly. Burns was holdmg the 
plough, with Blane for his driver, when the 
little creature was observed runnmg off 
across the ticld. Blane, having the /r//'/c, or 
plough-cleaning utensil, in his hand at the 
moment, was thoughtlessly running after it, 
to kill it, when Burns checked him, but not 
angrily, asking what ill the poor mouse had 
ever done him. The poet then seemed to 
his driver to grow very thoughtful, and, 
during the remainder of the afternoon, he 
spoke not. In the night time he awoke 
Blane, who slept with him, and, readmg the 
poem which had in the meantime been com- 
posed, asked what he thought of the inotise 
now." 

Wee, sleekit, cowrin', tim'rousbeastie, 
Oh, what a panic's in thy breastie ! 
Thou needna start awa' sae hasty, 

Wi' bickering brattle !' 
J wad be laith.to rin and chase thee, 
■^ Wi' murd'ring pattle !^ 

I'm truly sorry man's dominion 
Has broken nature's social union, 
And justifies that ill opinion 

Which maks thee startle 
At me, thy poor earth-born companion, 

And fellow -mortal ! 

[ doubt na, whiles,^ but thou may 
thieve; [live! 

What then ? poor beastie, thou maun 
A daimen icker in a tlirave* 

'S a sma' o request: 
I'll get a blessin' wi' the lavc,"^ 

And never miss't ! 

Tliy wee l)it housie, too, in ruin ! 
Its silly wa's the win's are strewin' ! 
And naething now to big^ a new ane 

O' foggage green ! 
A.nd bleak December's winds ensuin' 

Baith snell'' and keen ! 

Thou saw the fields laid bare and waste, 
And weary winter comin' fast. 



1 Hurrying run. 2 Pattle or Pettle, the 
plough spade. =* Sometimes. ■* Remainder. 

* Build. 6 Sharp. 

* An ear of corn in a thrave— that is, twen- 
ly-four sheaves. 



And co/ie' here, beneath the blast, 

Thou thought to dwelL 

Till, crash ! the cruel coulter past 
Out through thy cell. 

That wee bit heap o' leaves and stibble 
Has cost thee mony a weary nibble ! 
Now thou's turn'd out for a' thy trouble, 

Btif* house or hauld,*^ 
To thole^'^ the winter's sleety dribble, 

And cranreuch^' cauld. 

But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane. 
In proving foresight may be vain ; 
The best laid schemes o' mice and men 

Gang aft n-gley, 
And lea'e us nought but grief and pain 

For promised joy. 

Still thou art blest, compared wi' me I 
The present only toucheth thee. 
But, och ! I backward cast my ee 

On prospects drear ! 
And forward, though I canna see, 

I guess and fear. . 



HALLOWEEN. 

The following poem will, by many readers, 
be well enough understood ; but for the 
sake of those who are unacquainted with 
the manners and traditions of the country 
where the scene is cast, notes are added, to 
give some account of the principal charms 
and spells of that night, so big with proph- 
ecy to the peasantry in the west of Scot- 
land. The passion of prying into futurity 
makes a striking part of the history of 
human nature in its rude state, in all ages 
and nations ; and it may be some entertain- 
ment to a philosophic mind, if any such 
should honor the author with a perusal, to 
see the remains of it among the more unen- 
lightened m our own.— B. 

" Yes ! let the rich deride, the proud disdain, 
The simple pleasures of the lowly train ; 
To me more dear, congenial to my heart. 
One native charm, than all the "floss of art. ' 
— G0LUS.MITH. 

Upon that night, when fairies light 
On Cassilis Downans f dance, 

Or owre the lays\ in splendid blaze, 
On sprightly coursers prance; 

Or for Colean the route is ta'en, 
Beneath the moon's pale beams; 



^ Comfortable. « Without. « Holdmg. 10 En-^ 
dure. 11 Hoar-frost. 

1 Fields. 

t Certain little, romantic, rocky, green hills, 
in the neighborhood of the ancient seat of the 
Earis of Cassilis.— B. 



46 



BURNS' WORKS. 



There, up the cove, | to stray and rove, 
Among the rocks and streams 
To sport that night 

Among the bonny winding banks, 

Where Doon rins, wimplin', clear, 
Where Bruce § ance ruled the martial 
ranks, 

And shook his Carrick spear, 
Some merry, friendly, country-folks. 

Together did convene, [stocks. 

To burn their nits, and pou'-' their 

And haud their Halloween 

Fu' blithe that night. 

The lasses feat,^ and cleanly neat, 

Mair braw than when there're fine; 
Their faces blithe, fu' sweetly kythe/ 

Hearts leal,^ and warm, and kin': 
The lads sae trig,'' wi' wooer-babs,'' 

Weel knotted on their garten, 
Some unco blate,*^ and some wi' gabs,^ 

Gar lasses' hearts gang startin' 
Whiles fast at night. 

Then, first and foremost, through the 
kail, 
Their stocks I maun a' be sought ance; 
They steek"^ their een, and graip'' and 
wale,^'^ 
For muckle anes and straught anes. 
Poor hav'rel'^ Will fell afE the drift. 

And wander'd through the bow-kail. 
And pou't, for want o' better shift, 



2 Pull. 3 Trim. ^ Show. & True. « Spruce. 
' Double loops. « Bashful. » Talk, i" Close, 
n Grope. 12 Choose. i3 Half-witted. 

t A noted Cavern near Colean-house, 
called the Cove of Colean ; which, as well as 
Cassilis Downans, is famed in country story 
for being a favorite haunt of fairies. — B. 

§ The famous family of that name, the ances- 
tors of Robert Bruce, the great deliverer of 
his country, were Earls of Carrick.— B. 

II The first ceremony of Halloween is pulling 
each a stock or plant of kail. They must go 
out, hand in hand, with eyes shut, and pull 
the first they meet with ; its being big or little, 
straight or crooked, is prophetic of the size 
and "shape of the grand object of all their 
spells — the husband or wife. If any yird, or 
earth stick to the root, that is tocher or for- 
tune, and the taste of the custoc, that is, the 
heart of the stem, is indicative of the natural 
temper and disposition. Lastly, the stems, or, 
to give them their ordinary appellation, the 
runts, are placed somewhere above the head 
of the door ; and the Christian names of the 
people whom chance brings into the house, 
are, according to the priority of placing the 
runts, the names in question. — B. 



A runt was like a sow-tail, 

Sae bow't'"* that night. 

Then, straught or crooked, yird or 
nane. 

They roar and cry a' throu'ther; 
The very wee things, todlinV^ rin, 

Wi' stocks out-owre their shouther; 
x\nd gif the custoc's sweet or sour. 

Wi' joctelogs"^ they taste them; 
Syne cozily,^' aboon the door, [then 

Wi' cannie'* care, they've placet 
To lie that night. 

The lasses staw^^ frae 'mang them a* 

To pou their stalks o' corn:* 
But Rab slips out, and jinks about, 

Behint the muckle thorn: 
He grippet Nelly hard and fast; 

Loud skirl'd"-^ a' the lasses; 
But her tap-pickle maist was lost. 

When kitlin'^' in the fause-house f 
Wi' him that night. 

The auld guidwife's weel-hoordit nits^ 

Are round and round divided, 
And monie lads' and lasses' fates 

Are there that night decided: 
Some kindle coothie,'- side by side. 

And burn thegither trimly; 
Some start awa, wi' saucy pride, 

And jump out-owre the chimlie 
Fu' high that night. 

Jean slips in twa wi' tentie ee; 

Wha 'twas she wadna tell; 
But this is Jock, and this is me. 

She says in to hersel: " [him, 

He bleezed owre her, and she owre 

As they wad never mair part; 



1* Crooked. ^^ Tottering. ^^ Clasp-knives. 
17 Comfortably. i« Gentle. i9 Stole. 26 Scream- 
ed. 21 Cuddling. 22 Agreeably. 

* They go to the barn-yard and pull each 
at three several times, a stalk of oats. If the 
third stalk wants the top-pickle, that is, the 
grain at the top of the stalk, the party in ques- 
tion will come to the marriage-bed anything 
but a maid. — B. 

t When the corn is in a doubtful state, by 
being too green or wet, the stack-builder, by 
means of old timber, &c., makes a large apart- 
ment in his stack, with an opening in the side 
which is fairest exposed to the wind ; this he 
calls a fause-house. — B. 

t Burning the nuts is a famous charm. 
They name the lad and lass to each particular 
nut, as they lay them in the fire, and, accord- 
ingly as they burn quietly together, or start 
from beside one another, the course and issue 
of the courtship will be.— B. 



POEMS. 



41 



Till, fuff ! he started up tlie lam/-^ 
And Jean had e'en a sair heart 
To see't that night. 

Poor Willie, wi' his bow-kail runt. 
Was brunt wi' primsie Mallie; 

And Mallie, nae doubt, took the 
drunt,-'* 
To be compared to W^illie; 

Mall's nit lap out wi' pridefu' fling, 

And her am fit it brunt it; 
While Willie lap, and swore by jing, 

'Twas just the way he wanted 
To be that night. 

Kell had the fause-house in her min', 

She pits hersel and Kob in; 
In loving bleezc they sweetly join. 

Till wliite in ase they're sobbin' ; 
Nell's heart was dancin' at the view, 

She whisper'd Rob to leuk for't: 
Rob, stowlins, prie'd-^ her bonny mou', 

Fu' cozie'-^ in the neuk for't, 
Unseen that night. 

But Merran sat behint their backs, 

Her thoughts on Andrew Bell; 
She lea'es them gashin'- " at their cracks, 

And slips out by hersel : 
ilie through the yard the nearest taks, 

And to the kiln goes then, 
And darklins graipit for the bauks,-^ 

And in the blue-clue* throws then, 
Right f ear't that night. 

And aye she win't,"^^ and aye she swat, 

I wat she made nae jaukin',^ 
Till something held within the pat, 

Guid Lord ! but she was quakin'! 
But whether 'was the deil himsel, 

Or whether 'twas a bauk-en', 
Or whether it was Andrew Bell, 

She didna wait on talkin' 

To spier^' that night. 

W^ee Jenny to her grannie says. 



23 Chimney. 24 Pet. 25 Stealthily kissed. 
3« Snugly. 27 Talking. 28 Cross-beams. 
89 Winded. 3o Dallying. ^i Inquire. 

* Whoever would, with success, try this 
spell, must strictly observe these directions : 
— Steal out, all alone, to the kiln, and dark- 
ling, throw into the pot a clue of blue yarn ; 
wind it in anew clue off the old one; and, 
towards the latter end. something will hold 
the thread, demand, '^ Wha hands?" — i.e.^ 
who holds ? An answer will be returned from 
the kiln-pot, by naming the Christian and sur- 
name of your future spouse.— B. 



" Will ye go wi' me, grannie? 
I'll eat the applef at the glass 

I gat frae Uncle Johnnie: ' 
She fuff't her pipe wi' sic a lunt,^^ 

In wrath she was sae vap'rin'. 
She noticex na, an aizle^^ brunt 

Her braw new worset apron 

Out through that night. 
" Ye little skelpie-limmer's face ! 

I daur you try sic sportin', 
As seek the foul thief ony place, 

For him to spae^^ your fortune, 
Nae doubt but ye may get a sight ! 

Great cause ye hae to fear it; 
For mony a ane has gotten a fright, 

And lived and died delecret 
On sic a night. 
" Ae liairst afore the Sherramoor,^ 

I mind't as weel's yestreen, 
I was a gilpeyS^ then, I'm sure 

I wasna past fifteen; 
The simmer had been cauld and wal>, 

And stufE was unco green ; 
And aye a rantin' kirn-*^ we gat. 

And just on Halloween 

It fell that night. 
"Our stibble-rig was Rab M'Graen, 

A clever sturdy fallow: 
His son gat Eppie Sim wi' wean. 

That lived in Achmacalla: 
He gat hemp-seed,:}: I mind it weel. 

And he made unco light o't; 
But mony a day was by himsel. 

He was sae sairly frighted 

That very night." 
Then up gat fechtin' Jamie Fleck, 

And he swore by his conscience, 

32 Smoke. 33 Cinder. 34 Foretell 

35 Young Girl. 36 Harvest home, 

+ Take a candle, and go alone to a looking- 
glass ; eat an apple before it, and, some tra, 
ditions say, you should comb your hair all the 
time; the face of your conjugal companion to be 
will be seen m the glass, as if peeping over 
your shoulder. — B. 

X Steal out, unperceived,and sow a handful 
of hemp-seed, harrying it with anything you 
can conveniently draw after you. Repeat now 
and then, "■ Hemp-seed, I saw thee ; hemp- 
seed, I saw thee ; and him (or her) that is 
to be my true love, come after me and pc« 
thee." Look over your left shoulder, and you 
will see the appearance of the person invoke^ 
in the attitude of pulling hemp. Some trad* 
tions say, " Come after me and shaw thee," 
that is, show thyself ; in which case it simply 
appears. Others omit the harrowing, and say, 
*' Come after me and harrow thee.' — B. 



48 



BQPNS' WORKS. 



That lie could saw hemp-seed a peck; 

For it was a' but nonsense. [pock, 
The auld guidman raught"^^ down the 

And out a lianiu' gied him; 
^yne bade hun slip f rae 'mang the folk, 

iSome time when nae ane see'd him, 
And try't that night. 
Ho marches through amang the stacks, 

Though he was something sturtiu;"^*^ 
The graip'^^ he for a harrow taks, 

And haurls^'^ it at his curpin;-*^ 
And every now and then he says, 

" Hemp-seed, I saw thee, 
And her that is to be my lass, 

Come after me, and draw tliee 
As fast this night." 
He whistled up Lord Lennox' march 

To keep his courage cheery; 
Although his hair began to arch. 

He was say fley'd^'-' and eerie: 
Till presently he hears a squeak, 

And then a grane and gruntle; 
He by his shouther gae a keek. 

And tumbled wi' a wintle'*^ 

Out-owre that night. 
He roar'd a horrid murder-shout, 

In dreadfu' desperation ! 
And young and auld cam runnin' out 

To hear the sad narration; 
He swore 'twas hilchin"*^ Jean M'Craw, 

Or crouchie"*^ Merran Humphie, [a' — 
Till, stop ! she trotted through them 

And wha was it but grumphie^** 
Asteer that night ! 
Meg fain wad to the barn hae gaen. 

To win three wechts"*^ o' naethiug;* 
But for to meet the deil her lane, 

kilie pat but little faith in: 

^'' Reached. ^^ Timorous. ^9 Dung-fork. 
4" Drafts. 4' Rear. ^^ Frightened. 4=* Stagger. 
4!HaUing. 45 Crookbacked. ^^ The pig. 
4' Corn-baskets. 

* This charm must likewise be performed un- 
pcrceived and alone. You go to llie barn, and 
open both doors, taking them off the hinges, 
if possible ; for there is danger that the being 
about to appear may shut the doors, and do 
you some mischief. Then take that instru- 
m.-nt used in winnowing the corn, which in 
our country dialect we call a wecht ; and go 
through all the attitudes of letting down corn 
a^'air.stthe wind. Repeat it three times ; and 
tl'.e third time an apparition will pass through 
thf barn in ..t tiie wmdy door, and out at the 
Cher, iiaving both the figure in question, and 
tho appearance or retinue markmg the em- 
ployment or station in life. — B. 



She gies the herd a pickle"^^ nits, 
And two red-cheekit apples, 

To watch, while for the barn she sets, 
In hopes to see Tam Kipples 
That very nicht. 

She turns the key wi cannie^" thraw. 

And o\vre the threshold ventures; 
But first on Sawnie gies a ca' 

Syne bauldly in she enters: 
A ratton rattled up the wa', 

And she cried, Lord, perserve her I 
And ran through midden-hole and a'. 

And pray'd wi' zeal and fervour, 
Fu' fast that night; 

They hoy't"'^ out Will v.i' sair advice; 

Tliey^' liecht him some fine braw ane; 
It chanced the stack he faddom't thricef 

Was tinnner-iH'opt for thra\\'in'; 
He taks a swirlie,^-' auld moss-oak. 

For some black grousome^-^ carl in; 
And loot a winze, ^"^ and drew a stroke. 

Till skin in blypes^^ cam haurlin' 
Ail 's nieves^** that night. 

A wanton widow Leezie was. 

As canty as a kittlin; 
But, och ! that night amang the shaws,^' 

She got a fearfu' settlin' ! [cairn, 

She through the whins, °* and by the 
And owre the hill gaed scrievin, [burn+ 
Wliare three lairds' lands met at a 

To dip her left sark-sleeve in, 

Was bent .that night. 

Whyles owre a linn the burnie plays, 
As through the glen it wimpl't;^'' 

\Miyles round a rocky scaur*''^ it strays; 
Whyles in a wiel''' it dimpl't; 



4« Pew. 49 Gentle. 5° Urged, ^i Promised. 
^2 Knotty. ^2 Hideous. =< Oath. ^^ Shreds. 
56 Hands. ^^ Woods, ^s Gorse. so Wheeled 
«o Chff. «i Eddy. 

t Take an opportunity of going unnoticed 
to a bean-stack, and fathom it tJiree times 
round. The last fathom of the last lime, you 
will catch in your arms the appearance oi 
your future conjugal yoke-fellow.— B. 

i You go out, one or more, for this is a social 
spell, to a south-running spring or rivulet, 
where " three lairds' lands meet, and dip youl 
left shirt-sleeve. Go to bed in sight of a lire, 
and hang your wet sleeve before it to dry. 
Lie awake ; and, some time near midnight, an 
apparitton having the e.xact figure of the 
grand object in question, will come and turn 
the sleeve, as if to dry the other side of it.— 
B. 



POEMS. 



Whyles glitter'd to tte nightly rays, 

Wi' bickering, dancing dazzle; 
Wliyles cookit underneath the braes, 

Below the spreading hazel, 

Unseen that night. 
Aniang the brackens, on the brae, 

Between her and the moon, 
The deil, or else an outler quey,*^^ 

Gat up and gae a croon :^'^ 
Poor Leezie's heart maist lap the hool l*^^ 

Near lav'rock- height she junipit; 
But mist a lit, and in the pool 

Out-owre the lags she plumpit, 

Wi' a plunge that night. 
In order, on the clean hearth-stane, 

The luggies three|| are ranged, 
And every time great care is ta'en 

To see them duly changed: 
Auld Uncle John, wha wedlock joys 

Sin' Mar's year did desire. 
Because he gat the toom^^ dish thrice, 

He heaved them on the fire 

In wrath that night, 
Wi' merry sangs, and friendly cracks, 

I wat they didna weary; 
And unco talcs, and funny jokes. 

Their sports were cheap and cheery; 
Till butter'd so'ns,^ wi' fragrant lunt,*^^ 

Set a' their gabs*^"^ a-steerin'; 
Syne, wi' a social glass o' strunt,^^ 

They parted aff careerin' 

Fu' blythe that night. 



MAN WAS MADE TO MOURN. 

A DIKGE. 

Several of the poems," says Gilbert Burns, 
'■'■ were produced for the purpose of bring- 
ing forward some favourite sentiment of the 



«' Unhoused heifer. ^- Moan. "^ Burst its 
case. ^' Empty. ®^ Smoke. ^^ Mouths. 
^"^ Spirits. 

I! Take three dishes ; put clean water in 
one, foul water in another, leave the third 
empty : blindfold a person, and lead him to 
the hearth where the dishes are ranged ; he 
(or she) dips the left hand : if by chance in the 
clean water, the future husband or wife will 
come to the bar of matrimony a maid ; if in the 
foul, a widow , if in the empty dish, it foretells, 
with equal certainty, no marriage at all. It 
is repeated three times, and every time the 
arrangement of the dishes is altered.— B. 

§ SowEN'S. — The shell of the corn (called, in 
the rural districts, shellings) is steeped in 
water until all the fine meal particles are ex- 
tracted ; the liquid is then strained off, and 
boiled with milk and butter until it thickens. 



author's. He used to remark to me that he 
could not well conceive a more mort:!fying 
picture of human life than a man seeking 
v/ork. In casting about in his mind how 
this sentiment might be brought forward, 
the elegy. ' Man was Made to Mourn,' was 
composed." 
An old Scottish ballad had suggested the form 
and spirit of this poem. " 1 had an old 
grand-uncle," says the poet to Mrs. Dunlop, 
with whom my mother lived a while in 
her girlish years. The good old man was 
long blind ere he died, during which time 
his highest enjoyment was to sit down and 
cry, while my mother would sing the simple 
old song of ' The Life and Age of Man.' " 
From the poet's mother, Mr. Cromek pro- 
cured a copy of this composition ; it com- 
mences thus : — 
" Upon the sixteen hundred year 

Of God and fifty-three 
Frae Christ was born, v.dio bought us dei-r. 

As v/rllings testify ; 
On January the sixteenth day. 

As I did lie alone. 
With many a sigh and sob did say 

Ah ! man was made to moan !" 

When chill Noveml)er's surly blast 

Made fields and forests bare. 
One evening, as 1 wander'd forth 

Along the banlvs of Ayr, 
I spied a man whose aged step 

Seem'd weary worn with care; 
His face was f urrow'd o'er with years. 

And hoary was his hair. 

' ' Young stranger, whither wanderest 
thou ?" 

Began the reverend sage; [strain, 
"Does thirst of wealth thy step cun- 

Or youthful pleasures rage ? 
Or haply, prest with cares and woes. 

Too soon tliott hast began 
To wander forth with me to mourn 

The miseries of man. 

" The Sun that overhangs yon moors, 

Outspreading far and wide. 
Where hundreds labour to support 

A haughty lordling's pride- 
I've seen yon weary winter sun 

Twice forty times return. 
And every time has added proofs 

That man was made to mourn. 
" O man ! while in thy early years. 

How prodigal of time ! 
Misspending all thy precious hours, 

Thy glorious youthful prime ! 
Alternate follies take the sway; 

Licentious passions burn; 
Which tenfold force gives nature's law, 

That man was made to mourn. 



50 



BURNS' WORKS. 



"Look not alone on youthful prime. 

Or manhood's active might; 
^an then is useful to his kind, 

Supported is his right, 
But see him on the edge of life, 
With cares and sorrows worn; 
Then age and want— oh ! ill match'd 
pair ! — 
Show man was made to mourn. 

" A few seem favourites of fate, 

In pleasure's lap carest; 
Yet think not all the rich and great 

Are likewise truly blest. 
But, oh ! what crowds in every land 

Are wretched and forlorn ! 
Through weary life tliis lesson learn — 

That man was made to mourn. 

"Many and sharp the numerous ills 

Inwoven with our frame ! 
More pointed still we make ourselves — 

Regret, remorse, and shame ! 
And man, whose heaven-erected face 

The smiles of love adorn, 
Man's inhumanity to man 

Makes countless thousands mourn ! 

" See yonder poor, o'erlabour'd wight, 

So abject, mean, and vile, 
Who begs a brother of the earth 

To give him leave to toil ; 
And see his lordly fellow- worm 

The poor petition spurn, 
Unmindful, though a weeping wife 

And helpless offspring mourn. 

" If I'm design'd yon lordling's slave — 

By nature's law design'd — 
Why was an independent wish 

E'er planted in my mind ? 
If not, why am I subject to 

His cruelty or scorn ? 
Or why has man the will and power 

To make his fellow mourn ? 

" Yet let not this too much, my son, 

Disturb thy youthful breast; 
This partial view of human kind 

Is surely not the last ! 
The poor, oppress'd, honest man. 

Had never, sure, been born, 
"Jlad there not been some recompense 

To comfort those that mourn. 

"O Death! the poor man's dearest 
friend — 
The kindest and the best ! 



Welcome the hour my aged limbs 
Are laid with thee at rest ! 

The great, the wealthy, fear thy blovi' 
From pomp and pleasure torn; 

But, oh ! a blest relief to those 
That weary-laden mourn !" 



THE COTTER'S SATURDAY 
NIGHT. 

INSCRIBED TO ROBERT AIKEN, ESQ. 

Gilbert Burns gives the following distinct 
account of the origin of this poem :— " Rob- 
ert had frequently remarked to me that he 
thought there was something peculiarly 
venerable in the phrase, ' Let us worship 
God!' used by a decent, sober head of a 
family, introducing family worship. To this 
sentiment of the author, the world is indebt- 
ed for 'The Cotter's Saturday Night.' 
When Robert had not some pleasure in view 
in which I was not thought tit lo partici- 
pate, we used frequently to walk together, 
when the weather was favourable, on the 
Sunday afternoons— those precious breath- 
ing times to the laboring part of the com- 
munity—and enjoyed such Sundays as 
would make one regret to see their number 
abridged. It was in one ot these walks that 
I first had the pleasure of hearing the author 
repeat 'The Cotter's Saturday Night.' I do 
not recollect to have read or heard anything 
by which I was more highly electntied. 
The fifth and sixth stanzas, and the eigh- 
teenth, thrilled with peculiar ecstasy through 
my soul. The cotter, in the ' Saturday 
Night,' is an exact copy of my father in his 
manners, his family devotion, and exhorta- 
tions ; yet the other parts, of the dtscripiion 
do not apply to our family. None of us 
were ' at service out among 'the farmers 
loun'.' Instead of our depositing our 
* sau-won penny-fee' with our parents, my 
father laboured hard, and lived with the most 
rigid economy, that he might be able to 
keep his children at home, thereby having 
an opportunity of watching the progress of 
our young minds, and forming in thern early 
habits of piety and virtue ; and from this 
motive alone did he engage in farming, the 
source of all his difficulties and distresses. 

" Let not ambition mock their useful toil. 

Their homely joys, and destiny obscure; 
Nor grandeur hear, with a disdainful smile. 
The short but simple annals of the poor.'' 
^Grav, 

My loved, my honor'd, much -respected 

friend ! 

No mercenary bard his homage pays; 

With honest pride, I scorn each selfish 

end: [and praise; 

My dearest meed, a friend's esteem 



POEMS. 



eK 



To you I sing, in simple Scottish lays, 

The lowly train in life's sequester'd 

scene; [less ways: 

Tlie native feelings strong, the guile- 

What Aiken in a cottage would have 

been ; [happier there, I ween ! 

Ah ! though his worth unknown, far 

Kovember chill blaws loud wi' angry 

sugh;^ [close; 

The short'ning winter-day is near a 

The miry beasts retreating frae the 

pleugh; [their repose; 

The black'ning trains o' craws to 

The toil-worn cotter frae his labour 

goes, [end, 

This night his weekly moil is at an 

Collects his spades, his mattocks, and 

his hoes, [spend, 

Hoping the mom in ase and rest to 

And, weary, o'er the moor his course 

does hameward bend. 

At length his lonely cot appears in view 
Beneath the shelter of an aged tree ; 
Th' expectant w^ee things, toddlin', 
stacher through [noise and glee. 
To meet their dad, wi' fiichterin' 
His wee bit ingle, blinking bonnily, 
His clean hearthstane, his thrifty 
wifie's smile, 
The lisping infant prattling on his knee, 
Does a' his weary carking cares be- 
guile, [and l:is toil. 
And makes him quite forget his labour 

Belyve,^ the elder bairns come drapping 
in, [roun": 

At service out among the farmers 
Some ca' the pleugh, some herd, some 
tentie rin 
A cannie errand to a neibor town: 
Their eldest hope, their Jenny, woman 
grvown, [her ee, 

In youthfu' bloom, love sparkling in 
€omes liame, perhaps to shov/ a braw 
new gown, 
Or deposit her sair-won penny fee. 
To help her parents dear, if they in 
hardship be. 

Wi' joy unfeign'd, brothers and sisters 

meet, spiers :^ 

And each for other's welfare kindly 



* Moan. 



2 By and by. 



Inquires. 



The social hours, swift-wiug'd unnotic- 
ed, fleet; [hears; 
Each tells the uncos^ that he sees or 
The parents, partial, eye their hopeful 
years; 
Anticipation forward points the view. 
The mother, wi' her needle and h^r 
shears, [the new- 
Gars auld claes look amaist as weel's 
The father mixes a' wi' admonition due. 
Their master's and their mistress's 
command. 
The younkers a' are warned to -obey; 
And mind their labours wi' an eydent* 
hand, [jaulc^ or play. 
And ne'er, though out o' sight, to 
" And oh ! be sure to fear the Lord al- 
way ! [night ! 
And mind your duty, duly, morn and 
Lest in temptation's path ye gang 
astray [might; 
Implore His counsel and assisting 
They never sought in vain that sought 

the Lord aright !" 

But, hark ! a rap comes gently to the 

door, [same, 

Jenny, wha kens the meaning o' the 

Tells how a neibor lad cam o'er the 

moor, [hame. 

To do some errands, and convoy her 

The wily mother sees the conscious 

flame [cheek. 

Sparkle in Jenny's ee, and flush her 

Wi' heart-struck anxious care, inquires 

his name, [speak; 

While Jenny hafflins is afraid to 

Weel pleased the mother hears it's nae 

wild, worthless rake. 
Wi' kindly welcome, Jenny brings him 
ben; [er's eye; 

A strappin' youth; he taks the moth- 
Blithe Jenny sees the visit's no ill ta'en; 
The father cracks of horses, pleughs, 
and kye, [wi' joy, 

The youngster's artless heart o'erflows 
But blate^ and lathefu',*' scarce can 
weel behave; [spy 

The mother, wi' a woman' wiles, can 
What makes the youth sae bashfu' 
and sae grave; 
Weel pleased to think her bairn's re. 
spected like the lave,^ 



4 Strange things. ^ Diligent. « Dally 
' Bashful. *> Hesitating. » Other people. 



52 



BUENS' WORKS, 



Oil happy love ! — where love like this 
is found ! — [yond compare ! 

Oh heart-felt raptures ! — bliss be ■ 
I've paced much this weary, moital 
round, [declare — 

And sage experience bids me this 
*'If Heaven a draught of heavenly- 
pleasure spare, 
One cordial in this melancholy vale, 
*ris when a youthful, loving, modest 
pair, [tender tale. 

In other's arms, breathe out the 
Beneath the milk-white thorn, that 

scents the evening gale." 
Is there, in human form, that bears a 
heart, [truth ! 

A wretck ! a villain I lost to love and 
That can, with studied, sly, ensnaring 
art, youth ? 

Betray sweet Jenny's unsuspecting 
Curse on his perjured arts ! dissem- 
bling smooth ! [exiled ? 
Are honour, virtue, conscience, all 
Is there no pity, no relentmg ruth. 
Points to the parents fondling o'er 
their child ? [distraction vnld ! 
Then paints the ruin'd maid, and their 

But now the supper crowns their sim- 
ple board, [Scotia's food: 
The halesome parritch,'" chief of 
The soupe'^ their only hawkie^'^ does 
afford, [her cood: 
That 'yont the hallan^^ snu^y chows 
The dame brings forth, in complimen- 
tal mood, [kebbuck,'-i fell,^^ 
To grace the lad, her weel-hain'd 
And aft he's prest, and aft he ca's it 
guid: [tell. 
The frugal wifie. garrulous, "vvill 
How 'twas a towmond^** auld, sin' lint 
was i' the bell. 

The cheerf u' supper done, wi' serious 

face, [vidde; 

They, round the ingle, form a circle 

The sire turns o'er, wi' patriarchal 

grace, [pride; 

The big ha' Bible, ance his father's 

His bonnet rev'rently is laid aside. 

His lyart haffets^'' wearing thin and 

bare; [Zion glide. 

Those strains that once did sweet in 

'0 Porridge. " Milk- 12 Cow. >3 Porch. 
'* Cheese. i» Biting. J^ Twelvemonth. 
*^ Gray temples. 



He wales'^ a portion with judicious 

care; [with ssolemn air, 

And " Let us worship Gqd," he sajrg, 

They chant their artless notes in simple 
guise; [noblest aim: 

They tune their hearts, by far the 
Perhaps "Dundee's" wild -'warbling 
measures rise, [the name; 

Or plaintive "Martyrs," wortiiv of 
Or noble " Elgin" beets the heaven- 
ward Hame, [lays: 
The sweete-st far of Scotia's holy 
Compared with these, Italian trills are 
tame; [raise; 
The ticlded ear no heartfelt raptures 
Nae unison hae they with our«Creator's 
praise. 

The priest-like father reads the sacred 
page, [on high; 

How Abram was the friend of GoD 
Or, Moses bade eternal warfare wage 

With Amalek's ungracious progeny; 

Or how the royal bard did groaning lie 

Beneath the stroke of Heaven's 

avenging ire [cry; 

Or Job's pathetic plaint, and wailing 

Or rapt Isaiah's ^^ald seraphic fire; 
Or other holy seers that tune the sacred 

lyre. 
Perhaps the Christian volume is the 
theme, [was sbed; 

How guiltless blood for guilty man 
How He, who bore in heaven the 
second name, [His head; 

Had not on earth whereon to lay 
How His first followers and servants 
sped; [a land: 

The precepts sage they wrote to many 
How he, who lone in Pattnos banish'd. 
Saw in the sun a mighty angel .stand; 
And heard great Bab'lon's doom pro- 
nounced by 
Heaven' J command. 
Then kneeling down, to Heavens 
ETERNAL KiNG, [band prays: 
The saint, the father, and the hus- 
Hope ' ' springs exulting on triumphant 
wing,"* [future days: 

That thus they all shall meet'iu 
There ever bask in uncreated ray^s. 
No more to sigh or shed the bittei 
tear, 

' ' Selects. 
* Pope's " Windsor Forest." 



POEMS. 



>3 



Together hymning their Creator's 
praise, 
In such society, yet still more dear; 
While circling time moves round in an 

eternal sphere. 
Compared with this, how poor re- 
ligion's pride, [art, 
In all the pomp of method and of 
When men display to congregations 
wide [heart ! 
Devotion's every grace, except the 
The Power, incensed, the pageant will 
desert [stole : 
The pompous strain, the sacerdotal 
But, haply, in some cottage far apart. 
May hear, well pleased, the language 
of the soul; [enrol. 
And in his book of life the inmates poor 

Then homeward all take off their sev 
eral way; 
The youngling cottagers retire to rest • 
The parent-pair their secret homage 
. pay, [request 

And proffer up to heaven the v/arm 
That He, who stills the raven's clamor- 
ous nest, [pride, 
And decks the lily fair in flowery 
\A'ould, in the way His wisdom sees the 
best, [provide; 
For them and for their little ones 
But, chiefly, in their hearts with grace 
divine preside. 

From scenes like these old Scotia's 
grandeur springs, [ered abroad: 
That makes her loved at home, rev- 
Princes and lords are but the breath of 
kings, [of God;" 

" An honest man's the noblest worlc 
And certes, in fair virtue's heavenly 
road, [hind. 

The cottage leaves the palace far be- 
What is a lordiing's pomp? — a cum- 
brous load, [kind, 
Disguising oft the wretch of human 
Studied in arts of hell, in wickedness 

refined ! 
O tScotia ! my dear, my native soil ! 
For whom my warmest wish to 
Heaven is sent ! 
Long may thy hardy sons of rustic 
toil 
Be blest with health, and peace, and 
sweet content ! [lives prevent 
And, oh ! may Heaven their simple 



From luxury's contagion, weak and 

vile ! [rent, 

Then, howe'er crown and c^oronets be 

A virtuous populace invy rise the 

while, [much'-Ioved isle. 

And stand a wall of fire around their 

Thou ! who pour'd the patrir-xic tide 
That stream'd through Wallace's 
undaunted heart; [pride, 

Who dared to nobly stem tyrannic 
Or nobly die, the second glorioua 
part, 
(The patriot's God, peculiarly Thou art, 
His friend, inspirer, guardian, and 
reward !) 
Oh, never, never, Scotia's realm desert; 
But still the patriot, and the patriot- 
bard, [ment and guard ! 
In bright succession raise, her orna- 



ADDRESS TO THE DEIL. 

" Oh prince ! Oh chief of many throned 
powers, 
That led th' embattled seraphim to war !" 

— Milton. 

THOU ! whatever title suit thee, 
Auld Hornie, Satan, Nick, or Clootie,* 
W^ha in yon cavern grim and sootie. 

Closed under hatches, 
Spairgesf about the brunstane cootie,:j: 

To scaud poor wretches I 
Hear me, auld Hangie, for a wee. 
And let poor damned bodies be ; 
I'm sure sma' pleasure it can^gie. 

E'en to a deil , 



* A well-known term applied to Satan in 
ocotland in allusion to his hoofs or cloots. 

\ Spaii-gcs is the best Scots word m its 
place I ever met with. The deil is not stand- 
ing- fling^ing the hquid brimstone on his 
friends with a ladle, but we tiee hmi standing 
at a large boiling vat, with something like a 
golf-bat, striking the liquid this way and that 
v/ay aslant, with all his might, making it fly 
through the whole apartment, while the in- 
mates are winking and holding up their arms 
to defend their faces. This is precisely the 
idea conveyed by spairging : flinging it many 
other way would be laving or splashing.— 
The Ettrick Shepherd. 

% The legitimate meaning of this word is a 
?Tiall wooden tub ; here it implies not only 
/he utensil, but liquid brimstone ; just as a 
toper talks of his can ox his cogie^ meaning 
both the liquor and the utensil in which it is 
held. 



54 



BURNS' WORKS. 



To skelp and scaud poor dogs like me, 
And hear us squeel ! 

Great is thy power, and great thy 

fame ; 
Far kenn'd and noted is thy name : 
And though yon lowin' heugh's' thy 
hame, 

Thou travels far : [lame, 
And, faith ! thou's neither lag nor 

Nor blate nor scaur. -^ 
Whyles ranging like a roaring lion. 
For prey a' holes and corners tryin' : 
Whyles on the strong -wing'd tempest 
liyin', 

Tirlin'^ the kirks ; 
Whyles in the human bosom prpn'. 

Unseen thou lurks. 

I've heard my reverend grannie say, 
In lanely glens ye like to stray : 
Or where auld ruin'd castles, gray, 

Nod to the moon. 
Ye fright the nightly wanderer's way 

Wi' eldritch croon."* 

Wlien twilight did my grannie sum- 
mon, [woman ! 
To say her prayers, douce, honest 
Aft yont the dike she's heard you 
bummin', 

Wi' eerie drone ; 
Or, rustlin', through the boortries^ 
comin', 

Wi' heavy groan. 

Ae dreary, windy, winter night, [light, 
The stars shot down wi' sklentin' '' 
Wi' you, myself, I gat a fright 

Ayont the lough ; 
Ye, lil^e a rash- bush, stood in sight, 

Wi' waving sough. 

The cudgel in my nieve^ did shake. 
Each bristled hair stood like a stake, 
When wi' an eldritch, stoor quaick, 
quaick, 

Amang the springs, 
Awa' ye squatter'd, like a drake. 

On whistling wings. 

Let warlocks grim, and wither'd hags. 
Tell how wi' you, on ragweed nags, 
They skim the muirs and dizzy crags, 
Wi' wacked speed ; 



' Burning pit. ^ Apt lobe frightened. 3 Un- 
covering. 4 Unearthly moan. ^ Elder-trees. 
^ Glancing. ^ Fist. 



And in kirk-yards renew their leagues 
Owre liowkit** dead. 

Thence countra wives, wi' toil and 
pain, [vain : 

May plunge and plunge the kirn in 
For, oh ! the yellow treasure 's ta'en 

13y witching skill ; 
And dawtit^ twal-pint hawkie's gaen 

As yell's^o the bill. 
Thence mystic knots mak great abuse 

[crouse ; 
On young guidmen, fond, keen, and 
When the best wark-lume i' the 
house. 

By cantrip wit, 
Is instant made no worth a louse. 

Just at the bit. 
Wlien thowes dissolve the snawy^ 

hoord. 
And float the jinglin' icy boord, 
Then water-kelpies haunt the foord, 

By your direction ; 
And 'nighted travellers are allured 

To their destruction. 
And aft your moss -traversing spun^ 
kies § [is : 

Decoy the wight that late and drunk 
The bleezin', curst, mischievous mon- 
keys 

Delude his eyes. 
Till in some miry slough he sunk is. 

Ne'er mair to rise. 
When mason's mystic word and grip 
In stonns and tempests raise you up. 
Some cock or cat your rage maun stop. 

Or, strange to tell ! 
The youngest brother ye wad whip 
Aff straught to hell ! 
Lang syne, in Eden's bonnie yard. 
When youthfu' lovers first wei'e 

pair'd. 
And all the soul of love they shared. 

The raptured hour. 
Sweet on the fragrant flowery sward. 
In shady bower. j| 



8 Disinterred. » Petted. " Milkless. ; 
§ Will o' the wisp. 
IThis verse ran originally thus :— 
Lang syne in Eden's happy scene 
When strappin' Adam's days were green, 
And Eve was like my bonnie Jean, 
My dearest part, 
A dancin', sweet, young, handsome queea, 
•Wr guileless heart. 



POEMS. 



Then you, ye auld sneck - drawing- 

dog!^ 
Ye came to Paradise inco^. , 
And play'd on man a cursed brogue, 

(Black be your fa' !) 
And gied the infant.warld a sliog,'' 

'Maist ruin'd a'. 

D'ye mind that day, when in a bizz,''^ 
W'i' reekit duds, '^ and reestit gizz,'^ 
Ye did present your smoutie^^ phiz 

'Mang better folk, 
And sklented'*^ on the man of Uzz 

Your spitefu' joke ? 

And how ye gat him i' your thrall. 
And brak him out o' house and hall, 
While scabs and blotches did him gall, 
Wi' bitter claw, 

And lowsed his ill-tongued, wicked 
scawl," 

Was warst ava ? 

But a' your doings to rehearse, 
Your wily snares and fechtin' fierce, 
Sin' that day Michael did you pierce, 

Down to this time. 
Wad ding a Lallan^* tongue or Erse,'^ 

In prose or rh}^ne. 

And now old Cloots, I ken ye're thinkin', 
A certain Bardie's rantin', drinkin', 
Some luckless hour will send him 
linkin' 

To your black pit; 
But, faith, he'll turn a corner jinliin',-*^ 

And cheat you yet. 
But, fare you weel, auld Nickie-ben ! 
Oh, wad ye tak a thought and men' ! 
Ye aiblins-^ might — I dinna ken — 

Still hae a stake — 
I'm wae to think upo' yon den. 

Even for your sake I 



THE JOLLY BEGGARS. 

A CANTATA. 

This famous poem, or rather drama, is found- 
ed on a scene actually witnessed by the 
poet. In company with his friends, John 
Richmond and James Smith, he was pass- 

^' Shake. ^"^ Hurry. '^ Smoked clothes. 
1* Singed hair. i» Dirty, i^ Glanced, i^ Scold- 
ing wife. IS Lowland. ^^ Celtic. 20 Dodging. 
^^ Perhaps. 

i" Literally, withdrawing a latch biv.-glar- 
iously — here it means taking an advantage — 
^ettlAS- into Paradise on false pretences. 



ing Poosie Nansie's, when their attention 
bemg attracted by sounds of mirth and jol- 
lity proceeding from the interior, they enter- 
ed, and were rapturously welcomed by the 
motle band of beggars and tinkers carousing 
there. Burns pruiessed to have been great- 
ly dehghted with the scene, more especially 
with the J0II3' behaviour of a maimed old 
soldier. In a few days he recited portions 
of the poem to 'John Richmond, who used 
to speak of songs by a sweep and a sailor 
which did not appear in the completed man- 
uscript. 

RECITATIYO. 

When lyart^ leaves bestrew the yird,^ 
Or wavering like the baukie-bird,"^ 

Bedim cauld Boreas' blast; 
When hailstanes drive wi' bitter skyte,* 
And infant frosts begin to bite. 
In hoary cranreuch^ drest; 
Ae night at e'en a merry core 

0' randie, gangreP bodies, 
In Poosie Nansie's held the splore,' 
To drink their orra duddies:^ 
Wi' quaffing and laughing, 

They ranted and they sang; 
Wi' jumping and thumping. 
The vera girdle* rang. 
First, neist the fire, in auld red rags, 
Ane sat, weel braced wi' mealy bags. 

And knapsack a,' in order: 
His doxy lay within his arm, 
Wi' usquebae and blankets warm — 

She blink et on her sodger: 
And aye he gied the tozie drab 

The tither skelpin' kiss, 
While she held up her greedy gab, 
Just like an aumos dish.f 

Ilk smack still, did crack stiU, 
Just like a cadger's :}: whup, 
Then staggering and swaggering 
He roar'd this ditty up — 

AIR. 

Tune — " Soldiers' Joy." 
I am a son of Mars, who have been ir 
many wars, 



1 Gray. 2 Earth. 3 The bat. ^ Dath 
^ Thin white frost. ^ Vagrant ' Merry meet- 
ing. 8 Odd garments. 

* A circular iron p;ate, on which, when 
hung over the fire, oaten rakes are baked. 

+ The aumos, or beggar's dish, was a wood- 
en platter or bovvl, which every mendicant 
carried in the olden time as part of his pro- 
fessional accoutrements. It was used to re- 
ceive the aumos or alms in the shape of oat 
meal, broth, milk, or porridge. 

X A cadger is a vendor of various kinds ol 
merchandise, who employs a horse or ass in 
carrying about his wares from "^lace to place. 



56 



BURNS' WORKS. 



And show my cuts and scars wherever 
I come: 

Tills here was for a wench, and that 
other in a trench, 

When welcoming the French at the 
sound of the drum. 

Lai de dandle, &c. 

My'prenticeship I past where my lead- 
er breathed his last, 

When the bloody die is cast on the 
heights of Abram ; § 

I served out my trade when the gallant 
game was play'd 

And the Moro | low was laid at the 
sound of the drum. 

Lai de daudle, &c. 

I lastly was with Curtis, among the 
floating batteries, ^ [a limb; 

And there I leftfor Avitnessanarm and 

Yet let my country need me, with Elliot 
* *to head me, [of the drum. 

ITl clatter on my stumps at the sound 
Lai de daudle, &c. 

And now though I must beg with a 
wooden arm and leg, [my bum. 

And many a tatter'd rag hanging over 

I'm as happy with my wallet, my bot- 
tle and my callet, [drum. 

As when I used in scarlet to follow a 
Lai de daudle, &C. 

What though with hoary locks I must 
stand the winter shocks, 

Beneath the woods and rocks often- 
times for a home, 

When the t'other bag I sell, and the 
t'other bottle tell, [of a drum. 

I could meet a troop of hell at the sound 
Lai de daudle, &c. 

RECITATIVO. 

He ended ; and the kebars' sheuk 
A boon the chorus roar; 



9 Rafters. 

§ The battle-field in front of puebec, where 
General Wolfe fell in the arms of victory in 
1759. 

li lil Moro, a strong castle defending- Havan- 
na!;, which was gallantly stormed when the 
city was taken by the British m 1762. 

*f The destruction of the Spanish floating 
batteries during the famous siege of Gibraltar 
in 1782, on which occasion the gallant Captain 
Curtis rendered the most signal service. 

** George Augustus Elliot, created Lord 
Heathfield, for his memorable defence of Gil)- 
raltar, during the siege of three years. He 
died in 1790, 



While frighted rattons^^'backwardleuk. 
And seek the benmost" bore; 

A fairy fiddler frae the neuk, 

He skirled out " Encore " 
But up arose the martial chuck, 

And laid the loud uproar. 

AIR. 

Tune — " Soldier laddie." 
I once was a maid, though 1 cannot teU 

v/hen, [men; 

And still my delight is in proper young 
Some one of a troop of dragoons was 

my daddie, 
No wonder I'm fond of a sodger laddie. 

Sing, Lai de lal, cfcc. 
The first of my loves was a swaggering 

blade, [trade; 

To rattle the thundering drum was his 
His leg was so tight, and his cheek was 

so ruddy, [laddie. 

Transported I was with my sodger 
Sing, Lai de lal, &c. 

But the godly old chaplain left him in 
the lurch, [the church; 

The sword I forsook for the sake of 

He ventured the soul, and I risk'd the 
body, [laddie. 

'TAvas then I proved false tomy'sodger 
Sing, Lal de lal, &c. 

Full soon I grew sick of my sanctified 
sot, [got; 

The regiment at large for a husband I 

From the gilded spontoon to the fife I 
was ready, 

I asked no more but a sodger laddie. 
Sing, Lal de lal, &c. 

But the peace it reduced me to beg in 

despair, [fair, 

Till I met my old boy at a Cunningham 
His rags regimental they tiutter'd so 

gaudy. 
My heart it rejoiced at a sodger laddie. 

Sing, Lal de lal, &c. 
And now I have lived — I know not how 

long. 
And still I can join in a cup or a song; 
But whilst with both hands I can hold 

the glass steady, [laddie. 

Here's to thee, my hero, my sodger 
Sing, Lal de lal, &c. 

1" itats. 11 Innermost. 



POEMS. 



5V 



PiECITATTYO. 

Poor merry Andrew in the neuk, 

Sat guzzling \vi' a' tinkler liizzie; 
Tbey mind't na vvlia the chorus teuk, 

Between themselves they were sae 
busy ; 
At length wi' drink and courting dizzy 

He stoiter'd up and made a face; 
Tlien turn'd and laid a smack on Griz- 
zle, [grimace: — 

Syne tuned his pipes wi' grave 



Tune — " Auld Sir Symon." 
SirWisdom's a fool when he's fou, 

Sir Knave is a fool in a session; 
He's there but a 'prentice, 1 trov.-, 

But 1 am a fool by profession. 

My grannie she bought me a beuk, 
And I held awa' to the school; 

I fear I my talent misteuk. 

But what will ye hae of a fool ? 

For drink I would venture my neck, 
A hizzie's the half of my craft, 

But what could ye other expect, 
Of ane that's avowedly daft ? 

I ance was tied up like a stirk,''^ 
For civilly swearing aud quaffing! 

I ance was abused in the kirk, 
For touzling'^ a lass i' my daffin.^^* 

Poor Andrew that tumbles for sport, 
Let naebody name wi' a jeer; 

There's even, I'm tauld, i' the court 
A tumbler ca'd the Premier. 

Observed ye yon reverend lad 
Mak faces to tickle the mob ? 

He rails at our mountebank squad — 
It's rivalship just i' the job. 

And now my conclusion Til tell. 
For faith I'm confoundedly dry; 

The chiel that's a fool for himsel, 
Gude Lord ! he's far dafter than I. 

RECITATIVO. 

Then neist outspak a raucic carlin,^^ 
Wha ken't fu' weel to cleek the ster- 
ling, 
For monie a pursie she had hookit. 
And had in monie a well been doukit. 



12 Bullock. i» Rumpling. 
" Stout Bedlam. 



'* Merriment. 



Her dove had been a Highland laddie^ 
But Aveary fa' the waefu' woodie I'** 
Wi' sigliii and sol)s she thus began 
To wail her braw John Highland- 
man : — 



Tune — "Oh, an ye were Dead, Guid- 
man !" 

A Highland lad my love was born, 
The Lawland laws he held in scorn; 
But he still was faithfu' to his clan. 
My gallant braw John Highlandmaa 



Sing, hey my braw John Highlandman 
Sing, ho my braw John Highlandman 
There's not a lad in a' the Ian' 
Was match for my John Highlandman. 

With his philabeg and tartan plaid, 
And guid claymore down by his side, 
The ladies' hearts he did trepan. 
My gallant braw John Highlandman 
Sing, hey, &c. 

We ranged a' from Tweed to Spey, 
And lived like lords -and ladies gay; 
For a lawland face he feared none, 
jNIy galia-it braw John Highlandman. 
Sing, hey, &c. 

They banished him beyond the sea, 
But ere the bud was on the tree, 
Adown my cheeks the pearls ran. 
Embracing my John Highlandman. 
Sing, hey, &c. 

But, oh ! they catch'd him at the last, 
And bound him in a dungeon fast; 
My curse upon them every one, 
They've hang'd my braw John High 
landman. 

Sing, hey, &c. 

And now a widow, I must mourn 
The pleasures that will ne'er return; 
Nae comfort but a hearty can, 
When I think on John Highlandman. 
Sing, hey &c. 

KECITATIVO. 

A pigmy scraper, wi' his fiddle, 
Wha used at trysts and fairs to driddle, '' 
Her strappin' limb and gaucy middle 
(He reach 'd nae higher) 



'* The gallows. 



Play. 



§8 



BURNS' WORKS. 



Had holed liis heartie like a riddle, 
And blawn't on fire. 

VVi' handonhauncli, and upward ee, 
He croon'd his gamut, one, two, three, 
Then in an arioso key, 

The wee Apollo, 
Set off wi' allegretto glee 

His giga solo. 

AIR. 

Tune — " Whistle owre the lave o't." 
Let me ryke^** up to dight'^ that tear, 
And go wi' me and be my dear, 
And then your every care and fear 
May whistle owre the lave o't. 

CHORUS. 

I am a fiddler at my trade. 
And a' the tunes that e'er I played, 
The sweetest still to wife or maid, 
Was whistle owre the lave o't. 

At kirns and weddings wo'se be there. 
And oh ! sae nicely 's we will fare; 
We'll bouse about till Daddy Care 
Sings whistle owre the lave o't. 
1 am, &c. 

Sae merrily the banes we'll pyke. 
And sun oursels about the dike. 
And at our leisure, when ye like. 
We'll whistle owre the lave o't. 
I am, Lc. 

But bless me wi' your heaven o' charms, 
And while 1 kittle hair on ihairms. 
Hunger, cauld, and a' sic harms, 
May whistle owre the lave o't. 

I am, &c. 

RECITATIVO. 

Her charms had struck a sturdy caird,''^" 
As wee! as poor gut-scraper; 

He taks the fiddler by the beard. 
And drows a roosty rapier — 

He swore by a' was swearing worth, 
To speet him like a pliver,^| 

I]iiless he wad from that time forth 
Relinquish her for ever. 

Wi' ghastly ee, poor Tweedle-dee 
Upon his h.unkers'-' l)ended, 

And pray'd for grace wi' i-uefu' face. 
And sae the quarrel ended. 



'« Reach, i" Wipe. 2u Tinker, 
tt To spit him Uke a plover. 



■^' Hams. 



But though his little heart did grieve 
When round the tinkler press'd her. 

He feign'd to snirtle'-- in his sleeve, 
When thus the caird address'd her:— 



Tune — " Clout the Caudron." 
My bonny lass, I work in brass, 

A tinkler is my station: 
I've travell'd round all Christian ground 

In this my occupation. 
I've ta'en the gold, I've been enroll'd 

In many a noble squadron: [march'd 
But vain they search'd, when oft" I 

To go and clout-'-^ the caudron, 

I've ta'en the gold, &c. 

Despise that shrimp, that wither'd imp, 

Wi' a' his noise and ca'prin', 
And tak a share wi' those that bear 

The budget and the apron. 
And by that stoup, my faith and houp. 

And by that dear Kilbagie, 
If e'er ye want, or meet wi' scant, 

May I ne'er weet my cragie.-"^ 

And by that stoup, &c. 

RECITATIVO. 

The caird prevail'd — the unblushing 
fair 

In his embraces sunk, 
Partly wi' love, o'ercome sae sair. 

And partly she was drunk. 
Sir Violino, with an air 

That show'd a man of spunk, 
Wish'd unison between the pair. 

And made the bottle clunk 

To their health that night. 

But urchin Cupid shot a shaft 

That play'd a dame a sliavie,-^ 
The fiddler raked her fore and aft, 

Ahint the chicken cavie. 
Her lord, a wight o' Homer's craft,** 

Though limping wi' the spavie. 
He hirpled up, and lap like daft. 

And shored'^' them Dainty Davie 
0' boot that night. 
He was a care-defying blade 

As ever Bacchus listed. 
Though Fortune sair upon him laid. 

His heart she ever miss'd it. 
He had nae wish but — to be glad, 

Nor want but — when he thirsted; 

22 Laugh. 23 Patch. 24 Throat. ^^ A 
inck. 2'u ^\ ballad-singer. 27 Offered. 



POEMS. 



59 



He liated nouglit but — to be sad, 
And til us tlTe mus« suggested 
His sang thai night. 



Tune—" For a' that, and a' that." 
I am a bard of no regard, 

Wi' gentle folks, and a' that: 
But Homer-like, the glowrin' byke,-^ 

Frae town to town I draw that, 

CHORUS. 
For a' that, and a' that. 

And twice as muckle's a' that ; 
I've lost but ane, I've twa behin', 

I've wife eneugh for a' that. 

I never drank the Muses' stank, ^^ 
Castaiia's burn, and a' that; 

But there it streams, and richly reams, 
My Helicon, I ca' that. 

For a' that, &c. 

Great love I bear to a' the fair. 
Their humble slave, and a' that; 

But lordly will, I hold it still 
A mortal sin to thraw that. 

For a' that, &c. 

In raptures sweet, this hour we meet, 
Wi' mutual love, and a' that: 

But for how lang the flee may stang, 
Let inclination law that. 

For a' that, &c. 

Their tricks and craft hae >nt i.^edaft. 
They've ta'en me in, ana - that; 

But clear your decks, and here's the 
sex ! 
I like the jads for a' that. 

cnoitus. 
For a' that, and a' that, 

And twice as muckle's a' that; 
My dearest bluid, to dothemguid. 
They're welcome till't for a' that. 

RECITATIVO. 

So sang the bard — and Nansie's wa's 
Shook wi' a thunder of applause. 

Re-echoed from each mouth; 
They toom'd their pokes and pawn'd 

their duds, 
riiey scarcely left to co'er their fads, 

To quench their lowin' drouth, ^'^ 



'* The staring crowd. 29 -pool. 3" Burning 
thirst. 



Then owre again, the jovial tiirang. 

The poet did request, 
To loose his pack and wale^^ a sang, 
A ballad o' the best; 
He, rising, rejoicing. 

Between his two Deborah s. 
Looks round him, and found them 
Impatient for the chorus. 

AIR. 

Tune. — " Jolly Mortals, fill youk 

Glasses." 
See ! the smoking bowl before us, 

Mark our jovial ragged ring ! 
Round and round take up tlie chorus. 

And in raptures let us sing. 

CHORUS. 

A fig for those by law protected ! 

Liberty's a glorious feast ! 
Courts for cowards were erected, 
Cliurches built to please the priest. 

What is title ? what is treasure ? 

What is reputation's care ? 
If we lead a life of pleasure, 

'Tis no matter how or where ! 

A fig. &c. 

With the ready trick and fable. 
Round we wander all the day: 

And at night, in barn or stable, 
Hug our doxies on the hay. 

A fig, &c. 

Does the train-attended carriage 
Through the country lighter rove? 

Does the sober bed of marriage 
Witness brighter scenes of love ? 
A fig, &c. 

Life is all a variorum. 

We regard not liow it goes, 

Let them cant about decorum 
Who have characters to lose. 

A fig, &c. 

Here's to budgets, bags, and wallets I 
Here's to all the wandering train ! 

Here's our ragged brats and callets I 
One and all cry out — Amen ! 

A fig for those by law protected ! 

Liberty's a glorious feast ! 
Courts for cowards were erected, 

Cliurches built to please the priest. 

. . II 111 

3» Choose. 



eo 



BURNS' WORKa 



THE VISION. 

This beautiful poem depicts, in the highest 
strain of poetical eloquence, a struggle 
which was constantly going on in the poet's 
mind between the meanness and poverty of 
his position and his higher aspirations and 
hopes of independence, which he found it 
impossible ever to realize. It must have 
been evident to his mind that poetry alone 
was not to elevate him above the reach of 
worldly cares ; yet m this poem, as in many 
others, he accepts the poetical calling as its 
OAvn sweet and sufficient reward. In the 
appearance of ihe Muse of Coila, the matter 
is settled after a fashion as beautiful as po- 
etical. In the Kilmarnock edition of his 
poems, the allusion to his Jean in his descrip- 
tion of the Muse's appearance ;— 

" Down flow'd her robe, a tartan sheen 
Till half a leg was scrimply seen, 
And such a leg ! my bonny Jean 

Could only peer it ; 
Sae straught, sae taper, tight, and clean, 
Nane else cam near it—" 

was replaced by the name of another charm- 
er, in consequence, it is presumed, of his 
quarrel with her father. When the Edin- 
burgh edition appeared, his old affections 
had again asserted their sway, and her 
name was restored. In a letter to Mrs. Dun- 
lop, dated February, 1788, the poet, in allu- 
sion t» Miss Rachel Dunlop, one of her 
daughters, being engaged on a painling 
representing "The Vision," says :— '' I am 
highly flattered bv the news you tell tne of 
Coila. I may say to the fair painter who 
does me so much honor, as Dr. Beattiesays 
to Ross, the poet, of his Muse Scota, from 
which, by the by, I took the idea of Coila ; 
('tis a poem of Beattie's in the Scottish 
dialect, which perhaps you have never 
seen) ;— 

' Ye shake your head, but o' my fegs, 
Ye've set auld Scota on her legs ; 
Lang had she hen wi, buffs and flegs, 

Bunibazed and dizzie ; 
Her fiddle wanted strings and pegs — 

Wae's me, p>oor hizzie ?' 

DUAN FIRST.* 

The sun had closed the winter day, 
The curlers quat their roaring play.f 



* Dunn^ a term of Ossian's for the different 
divisions of a digressive poem. See his 
" Cathloda," vol. li. of Macpherson's transla- 
tion.— B. 

t Curling is a wintry game peculiar to the 
southern counties of Scotland. When the ice 
is sufficiently strong on the lochs, a number of 
individuals, each provided with a large stone 
of the shape of an oblate spheroid, smoothed 
at the bottom, range themselves on two sides, 
and being furnished with handles, play 
against each other. The game resembles 
bowls, but is much more animated, and keenly 
enjoyed. It is well characterized by the pyet 
as a roaring play. 



And hungered maiikin ta'en her way 
To kail-yards green, 

While faithless snaws ilk step betray 
Whare she has been. 

The thrasher's weary flingin'-tree^ 
The lee-lang day had tired me; 
And when the day liad closed his ee. 

Far i' the west, 
Ben i' the spence,:}: right pensivelie, 

1 gaed to rest. 

There, lanely, by the ingle-cheek, ^ 
I sat and eyed the spewing reek,^ 
That fiU'd vvi' hoast-provoldng sTiieek, 

The auld clay biggin' ; 
And heard the restless rattons^ squeak 

About the riggin'. 

All in this mottie,^ misty clime, 
I backward nmsed on wasted time, 
How 1 had spent my youthfu' prime, 

And done naething, 
But stringin' blethers'' up in rhyme. 

For fools to sing. 

Had I to guid advice but harkit, 
1 might by this hae led a market. 
Or strutted in a bank, and clerkit 

My cash-svcount: 
While here, half -mad, half fed, half- 
sarkit, 

Is a', til' amount. 

I started, muttering. Blockhead ! coof !^ 
And lieaved on high my waukit loof,' 
To swear by a' yon starry roof. 

Or some rash aith. 
That I henceforth would be rli}Tne. 
proof 

Till my last breath— 

When, click ! the string the sneck"* 

did draw 
And jee ! the door gaed to tli? wa'; 
And by my ingle-lowe 1 saw, 

Now bleezin bright, 
A tight, outlandish hizzie, braw, 

Come full in sight. 

Ye needna doubt, I held my whisht; 
The infant aith, halfform'd, was 
crusht. 

1 The flail. 2 pireside. ^ Sn^oi^^e. < ?moke. 
5 Rats. * Hazy. ' Nonsense. ** Fool. ® Hard- 
ened palm. 1" Latch. 

X The parlour of the farm-house of Moss* 
giel— the only apartment besides the kitchen. 



POEMS. 



61 



Iglower'd as eerie's I'd been dusht" 
In some wild glen; 

When sweet, lilie modest Worth, she 
blusht, 

And stepped ben.'^ 

Green, slender, leaf -clad holly- boughs 
Were twisted gracefu' round her 

brows — 
I took her for some Scottish Muse, 

By that same token: 
And come to stop those reckless vows, 

Would soon be broken. 

A * hare-brain'd sentimental trace' 
Was strongly marked in her face, 
A wildly- witty, rustic grace 

Shone full upon her; 
Her eye e'en turn'd on empty space. 

Beam'd keen with honour. 

Down flow'd her robe, a tartan sheen. 
Till half a leg was scrimply seen; 
And such a leg ! my bonny Jean 

Could only peer it; 
Sae straught, sae taper, tight^^, and 
clean, 

Nane else cam near it. 

Her mantle large, of greenish hue. 
My gazing wonder chiefly drew ; 
Deep lights and shades, bold- mingling 
threw 

A lustre grand ; 
And seem'd, to my astonish'd view, 

A well-known land. 

Here, rivers in the sea were lost ; 
There, mountains to the skies were 

tost, 
Here, tumbling billows mark'd the 
coast, 

With surging foam ; 
TSiere, distant shone Art's lofty boast. 
The lordly dome. 

Here, Doon pour'd down his far-fetched 

floods 
There, well fed Irwine stately thuds :'•* 
Auld hermit Ayr staw ^^ through his 
woods, 

On to the shore , 
And many a lesser torrent scuds, 
With seeming roar. 

Low, in a sandy valley spread, 

1' Friohtened. ''■^ Into the room. '^ Hand- 
Some, well-formed. "Sounds. '= Stole. 



An ancient borough § rear'd her head ; 
Still, as in Scottish story read. 

She boasts a race 
To every nobler virtue bred. 

And polish'd grace. 
By stately tower or palace fair. 
Or ruins pendent in the air, 
Bold stems of heroes, here and there, 

I could discern ; 
Some seem'd to muse, some seem' d to 
dare, 

With features stern. 

My heart did glowing transport feel. 
To see a race | heroic wheel, 
And brandish round the deep - dyed 
steel 

In sturdy blows ; 
While back-recoiling seem'd to reel 

Their suthron foes. 

His country's saviour,*^ mark him 

well ! 
Bold Richard ton's ** heroic swell ; 
The chief on Sarkf f who glorious fell. 

In high command ; 
And he whom ruthless fates expel 
His native land. 

There, where a sceptred Pictish 

shade:}::}: 
Stalk'd round his ashes lowly laid, 
I mark'd a martial race, portray'd 

In colors strong ; 
Bold, soldier- featured, undismayed 

They strode along. 
Through many a wild romantic grove S§ 



S The town of Ayr. 

|i The Wallaces.— B. 

5 Sir William Wallace.— B. 

** Adam Wallace of Richardton, cousin to 
the immortal preserver of Scottish independ- 
ence.— B. 

tt Wallace, Laird of Craigie, who was sec- 
ond m command, under Douglas, Earl of 
Ormond, at the famous battle on the banks of 
Sark, fought in 1448. That glorious victory- 
was principally owing to the judicious con- 
duct and intrepid valour of the gallant LairJ 
of Craigie, who died of his wounds after the 
action. — B. 

Xt Coilus, king of the Picts, from whom the 
district of Kyle is said to take its name, lies 
buried, as tradition says, near the family seat 
of the Montgomeries of Coilsfield, where his 
burial-place ts still shown.— B. 

§§ Barskimming, the seat of the late Lord 
Justice-Clerk.— B. (Sir Thomas Miller of 
Glenlee, afterwards President of the Court of 
Session.) 



62 



BURNS' WORKS. 



Near many a hermit-fancied cove, 
(Fit haunts for friendship or for love,) 

In musing- mood, 
An aged judge, 1 saw him rove. 

Dispensing good. 

With deep-struck reverential awe 
The learned sire and son I saw,|||| 
To nature's God and nature's huv 

They gave their lore. 
This, all its source and end to draw ; 

That, to adore. 

Brydone's brave ward ^^ I well could 

spy, 
Beneath old Scotia's smiling eye : 
Who call'd on Fame, low standing by. 

To hand him on. 
Where many a patriot name on high 
And hero shone. 

DUAN SECOND. 

With musing-deep, astonish'd stare, 
I view'd the heavenly seeming fair ; 
A whispering throb did witness bear 

Of kindred sweet, 
WTien with an elder sister's air 

She did me greet ; — 
" All hail ! my own inspired bard ! 
In me thy native Muse regard ; 
Nor longer mourn thy fate is hard, 

Thus poorly low ! 
I come to give thee such reward 

As we bestow. 

" Know, the great genius of this land 
Has many a light, aerial band, 
Who, all beneath his high command, 

Harmoniously, 
As arts or arms they understand. 

Their labours ply. 
" They Scotia's race among them 

share ; 
Some fire the soldier on to dare : 
Some rouse the patriot up to bare 

Corruption's heart : 
Some teach the bard a darling care, 

The tunefu' art. 
*"Mong swelling floods of reeking 
gore, 

III The Rev. Dr. Matthew Stewart, the cel- 
ebrated mathematician, and his son, Mr. 
Dugald Stewart, the elejofant expositor of the 
Sco'tLish school of metaphysics, are liere meant, 
their villa of Catrine being situated on the 
Avr. 

'f 1 Colonel Fuliartcn.-B. 



They ardent, kindling spirits, pour ; 
Or, 'mid the vemtl senate's roar, 

They, sightless, stand, 
To mend the honest patriot-lore, 

And grace the hand. 

" And when the bard, or hoary sage. 
Charm or instruct the future age, 
They bind the wild, poetic rage. 

In energy. 
Or point the inconclusive page 

Full on the eye. 

"Hence Fuilarton, the brave and 

young ; 
Hence Dempster's zeal-inspired toaigue; 
Hence sweet harmonious Beattie sung 

His Minstrel lay ; 
Or tore, with noble ardor stung, 

The sceptic's bays. 

' ' To lower orders are assign'd 
The humbler ranks of human kind, 
The rustic bard, the laboring hind. 

The artisan ; 
All choose, as various they're inclined, 

The various man. 

" When yellow waves the heavy grain, 
The threatening storm some, strongly, 

rein ; 
Some teach to meliorate the plain. 

With tillage skill; 
And some instruct the shepherd -train. 

Blithe o'er the hill. 

" Some hint the lover's harmless wile; 
Some grace the maiden's artless smile; 
Some soothe the labourer's weary toil, 

For humble gains. 
And make his cottage -scenes beguile 

His cares and pains. 

" Some bounded to a district-space, 
Explore at large man's infant race. 
To mark the embryotic trace 

Of rustic bard: 
And careful note each opening grace^ 

A guide and guard. 

"Of these am I — Coila my name. 
And this district as mine I claim. 
Where once the Campbells,*** chiefs 
of fame, 

Held ruling power. 



=:=** The Loudoun branch of the Campbells 
is here meant • Mossfjiel, and much of the 
neifjhbourin<T f^round v.'as then the property 
of the Earl of Loudon. 



POEMS. 



03 



I mark'd thy embryo tuneful flame, 
Thy uatal hoar. 

"' With future hope, I oft would gaze. 

Fond, on thy little early ways, 

Thy rudely-caroll'd, chiming phrase, 

In uncouth rhymes. 
Fired at the simple, artless lays. 

Of other times. 

" I saw thee seek the sounding shore, 
Delighted with the dashing roar; 
Or when the north his fleecy store 

Drove ihrougii the sky, 
I saw grim natures visage hoar 

Struck thy young eye. 

*' Or when the deep green-mantled 

earth 
Warm cherish'd every floweret's birth, 
And joy and music pouring forth 

In every gro\'e, 
I saw thee eye the general mirth 

With boundless love. 

*•' When ripen'd fields, and azure skies, 
Call'd forth the reaper's rustling noise, 
I saw thee leave their evening joys. 

And lonely stalk. 
To vent thy bosom's swelling rise 

In pensive walk. 

* "WTien youthful love, warm-blushing, 

strong 
Keen -shivering shot thy nerves along. 
Those accents, gratef uf to thy tongue, 

Th' adored Name, 
I \,aught thee how to pour \h song. 
To soothe thy flame. 

"I saw thy pulse's maddening play. 
Wild, send thee Pleasure's devious 

way. 
Misled my Fancy's meteor-ray. 

By passion driven; 
But yet the light that led astray 

Was light from Efeaven. 

"'' I taught thy manners painting strains. 
The loves, the ways of simple swains. 
Till now, o'er all my wide domains 

Thy fame extends; 
And some, the pride of Coila's plains, 

Become thy friends. 

"Thou canst not learn, nor can I show. 
To paint with Thomson's landscape 
glow ; 



Or wake the bosom -melting throe, 
With Shenstone's art. 

Or pour, with Gray, the moving flow 
Warm on the heart. 

"Yet all beneath the unrivall'd rose. 
The lowly daisy sweetly blows. 
Though large forest's monai-ch throwj 

His army shade, 
Yet green the j uicy hawthorn grows. 

Adown the glade. 

" Then never muniiur nor repine; 
Strive in thy humble sphere to shine; 
And, trust me, not Potosi's mine, 

Nor kings' regard. 
Can give a bliss o'ermatching thine-— 

A rustic bard. 

~ To give my counsels all in one. 
Thy tuneful' flame still careful fan; 
Preserve the dignity of man, 

With soul erect; 
And trust the universal plan 

Will all protect. 

"And wear thou this," she solemn said, 
And bound the holly round my head ; 
The polish'd leaves, and berries red. 

Did rustling play; 
And, like a passing thought, she fled 

In light away. 



A WINTER NIGHT, 

" Poor naked wretches, whereso'er yov. 
are. 

That bide the pelting of the pitilesi 
storm ! 

How shall your houseless heads, and un- 
fed sides, 

Your loop'd and window'd raggedness, 
defend you. 

From seasons such as these .?" 

— Shakespeare. 

When biting Boreas, fell^ and doure.- 

Sliarp shivers through the leaflc..;; 

bower; [glower-' 

^Vhen Phoebus gies a short-lived 

Far south the lift,^ 
Dim -darkening through the flalij 
shower, 

Or whirling drift; 

A o night the storm the steeples rocked 
Poor labour sweet in sleep was locked, 



1 Keen, a Stern. ^ Stare. ^ Sky. 



64 



BURNS' WORKS. 



While burns, wi' snawy wreaths up- 
choked. 

Wild-eddying swirl, 
^r through the mining outlet booked/ 

Down headlong hurl. 

Listening the doors and winnocks^ 

rattle, 
I thought me on the ourie'' cattle. 
Or silly sheep, wlia bide this brattle^ 

O' winter war, 
And through the drift, deep-lairing 
sprattle,^ 

Beneath a scaur, '<> 

Ilk happing^' bird, wee, helpless thing, 
That, in the merry months o' spring, 
Delighted me to hear thee sing, 

What comes o' thee ? 
Whare wilt thou cower thy chittering 
wing. 

And close thy ee ! 

Even you, on murderiilg errands toil'd, 
Lone I'roni your savage homes exiled, 
The blood-stain'd roost, and sheep-cot 
spoil'd. 

My heart forgets, 
Vv'hile pitiless the tempest vnld 
Sore on you beats. 

Now Phccbe, in her midnight reign. 
Dark muSed, view'd the dreary plain; 
Still crowding thoughts, a pensive 
train. 

Rose in my soul, 
When on my ear this plaintive strain, 

Slov/, solemn, stole: — 

"Blow, blov.', ye winds, v/itli heavier 

gust ! 
And freeze, thou bitter-biting frost ! 
Descend, ye chilly, smothering snows ! 
Not all your rage, as now united, 

shows 
More hard unkindness, unrelenting, 
Vengeful malice unrepenting, 
Thau heaven-illumined man on brother 

man bestows ! 

" See stern Oppression's iron grip, 

Or mad Ambition's gory hand, 
Sending, lilie blood-hounds from the 

slip, 
Woe, Want, and Murder o'er a land! 



^ Belched. ° Windows. "^ Shivering-. 

• Dashing- storm, " Struggle. " Clitt. 

** Hopping, 



Even in the peaceful rural vale. 

Truth, weeping, tells the mournful 

tale, [her side. 

How pamper'd Luxury, Flattery by 

The parasite empoisoning her ear. 

With all the servile wretches in the 

rear, [wide; 

Looks o'er proud Property, extended 

And eyes the simple rustic hind. 
Whose toil upholds the glittermg 
show, 
A creature of another kind, 
Some coarser substance unrefined. 
Placed for her lordly use thus far, thus 
vile, below. 

" Where, where is Love's fond, tendei 

throe. 
With lordly Honour's lofty brow, 

The powers you proudly own ? 
Is there, beneath Love's noble name, 
Can harbour dark the, selfish aim, 

To bless himself alone ! 
Mark maiden innocence a prey 

To love- pretending snares. 
This boasted Honour turns away, 
Shunning soft Pity's rising sway, 

Regardless of the tears and unav£.il- 
ing prayers ! [squalid nest, 

Perhaps this hour, in misery's 
She strains your infant to her joyless 

breast, [rocking blast ! 

And with a mother's fears shrinks at the 

" ye who, sunk in beds of down, 
Feel not a want but what yourselves 
create, . [fate 

Think for a moment on his wretched 
Whom friends and fortune quite dis. 
own. [call, 

111 satisfied keen nature's clamourous 
Stretch'd on his straw he lays him- 
self to sleep, [chinky wall, 
While through the ragged roof and 
Chill o'er his slumbers jDiles the 
drif ty heap ! 
Think on the dungeon's grim ccnfine. 
Where Guilt and poor Misfortune pine: 

Guilt, erring man, relenting view ! 
But shall thy legal rage pursue 
The wretch, already crushed low 
By cruel Fortune's undeserved blow 1 
Affliction's sous are brothers in distress, 
A brother to relieve, how exquisite tL i 
bliss 1" 



POEMS. 



Go 



[ heard na niair, for chanticleer 
Shook off the pouthery snaw, 

A.ncl hail'd the morning with a cheer, 
A cottage-rousing craw. 

But deep this truth impress'd my 
mind — 

Through all His works abroad, 
riie heart benevolent and kind 

The moat resembles God. 



SCOTCH DRINK. 

This poem, written after the manner of Fer- 
gusson's " Caller Water," is not to be taken 
as evidenee of the poet's feelings and prac- 
tices. It was suggested, along with the fol- 
lowing poem, by the withdrawal of an Act 
of Parliament empowering Duncan Forbes 
of Culloden to distil whisky on his barony 
of Ferintosh, free of duty, in return f:.r 
services rendered to the Government. This 
privilege was a source of great revenue to 
the family : and as Ferinto^.h whisky was 
cheaper than that produced clsevv'here, it 
became very popular, and the name Ferin- 
tosh thus became sonaeLhing like a syno- 
nymefor whisky over the country. Com- 
pensation for the loss of privilege, to the 
tune of £21,580, was avv-arded to the Forbes 
family by a jury. Attention was further 
drawn to " the national beverage " at this 
time by the vexatious and oppressive way 
in which the Excise law's were enforced at 
the Scotch distilleries. Many distillers aban- 
doned the business ; and as barley was 
beginning to fall in price in consequence, 
the county gentlemen supported the distil- 
lers, and an act was passed relieving the 
trade from the obnoxious supervision. 
These circumiitances gave the poet his cue ; 
and the subject was one calculated to evoke 
his wildest humour. Writing to Robert 
Muir, Kilmarnock, he says, " 1 here enclose 

you my "■ Scotch Drink,' and may the 

follow v^ith a blessing for your edification. 
I hope some time before we hear the gowk, 
[cuckooj to have the pleasure of seeing you 
at Kilmarnock, when I intend we shall have 
a gill bctvv-een us in a mutchkm stoup, 
v^-hich will be a great comfort an^ consola- 
tion to your humble servant, R. B." 

" Gie him strong drink, until he wink 
That's sinking in despair ; 
And liquor guid to fire his bluid, 
That s prest wi' grief and care ; 

There let him bouse, and deep carouse, 

Wi' bumpers flowing o'er. 
Till he forgets his loves or debts. 

And minds his griefs no more." 
— Solomon's Proverbs xxxi. 6, 7. 

Let other poets raise a fracas^ 
'Bout vines, and wines, and drucken 
Bacchus, 

1 A roY/. 



And crabbit names and stories wrack'-^ 
us. 

And grate our lug,^ [us, 
I sing the juice Scotch beare can mak 

In glass or jug. 

thcu, my Mu;e! guid auld Scotch 
drink, [thou jink,^ 

Whether through -w'implin''^ worms 
Or, richly brown, ream o'er the bink. 

In glorious faem. 
Inspire me, till 1 lisp and wink, 

To sing thy name ! 

Let liusky vdieat the haughs adorn, 
And aiti set up their awnie horn,*' 
And peas and beans, at e'en or morn. 
Perfume the plain, 

1 eze me on thee, John Barleycorn, 

Thou king o' grain ! 

On the aft Scotland clio*v'S her cood, 
In souple scones,'' the wale o' food ! 
Or tumblin' in the boilin' flood 

Wi' kail and beef; 
But when thou pours thy strong heart's 
blood, 

There thou shines chief. 

Food fills the wame, and keeps ns 

livin'; 
Though life's a gift no worth receivin' 
When heavy dragg'd wi' pine** and 
grievin' ; 

But oil'd by thee. 
The wheels o' life gae down-hill, 
scrievin'-' 

Wi' rattlin' glee. 

Thou clears the head o' doited Lear; 
Thou cheers the heart o' drooping iL'aro: 
Thou strings the nerves o' Labour sair 

At's weary toil; 
Thou even brightens dark Despair, 

Wi' gloomy smile. 

Aft clad in massy siller weed,^° 
\Vi gentles thou erects thy head; 
Yet humbly kind in time o' need, 

The poor man's wine,* 
His wee drap parritch, or his bread, 

Tliou kitchens^ ^ fine. 



2 Bother. 3 Ear. ^ Crooked. ^ steal. 
« Beard. ^ Cakes ^ pam. s Gliding glee- 
somely. i" sUver jugs. " Relishest. 

* Ale is meant, which is frequently mixed 
with porridge instead of milk. 



66 



BURNS' WORKS. 



Thou art the life o' public haunts; 
But thee, what were our fairs and 

rants ? 
Even goodly meetings o' the saunts, 

By thee inspired, 
When gaping they besiege the tents.f 
Are doubly fired. 

That merry night we get the corn in, 
Oh, sweetly then thou reams the horn 

in! 
Or reekin' a new year morning 

In cog or bicker, ^'^ 
And just a wee drap sp'ritual burn in. 

And gusty sucker I^'^ 

\A"hen Vulcan gies his bellows breath, 
And plowTiaen gather wi' their graith,'^ 
Oh, rare ! to see thee fizz and freath 

I" the lugget caup !'^ 
Then Burnewin"' comes on like death 

At ever} chap. 

Nae mercy, then, for airn or steel; 
The brawnie, bainie, ploughman chiel, 
Brings hard owrehip, wi' sturdy wheel, 

The strong forehammer, 
Till block and studie ring and reel, 

Wi' dinsome clamour.. 

When skirlin' weanies^'' see the light. 
Thou maks the gossips clatter bright, 
How fumblin' cuifs"^ their dearies 
slight; 

Wae worth the name 1 
Nae liowdie^^ gets a social night. 
Or plack-*' frae them. 

When neibors anger at a plea, 
And just as wud as wud'^' can be, 
How easy can the barley -bree 

Cement the quarrel ! 
It's aye the cheapest lawyer's fee 

To taste the barrel. 

Alake ! that e'er my Muse has reason 
To wyte-'^ her count rjTiien wi' treason! 
But mony daily weet their weason^-^ 
Wi' liquors nice, 



J2 Wooden vessels. '^ Toothsome sugar. 
" Implements. ^^ Cup with ears. ^^ The 
blacksmith. ^"^ Screaming children. '** Awk- 
ward fools. i» Midwife. 20 Com. 21 Mad. 
22 Charge. 23 Throat. 

+ The tents for refreshment at out-of door 
communions. (See " Holy Fair." 



And hardly, in a winter's season. 
E'er spier^"* her price. 

Wae worth that brandy, burning trash, 
Fell source o' mony a pain and brush f-^* 
'Twins mony a poor, doylt, dr'icken 
hash'-^ 

O' half his days ; 
And sends, beside, auld Scotland's cash 

To her worst faes. 

Ye Scots, wha wish auld Scotland welll 
Ye chief, to you my tale I tell. 
Poor plackless devils like mysel, 

It sets you ill, 
Wi' bitter, dearthfu' wines to mell,^' 

Or foreign gill. 

May gravels round his blether WTench, 
And gouts torment him inch by inch, 
Wha twists his gruntle wi' a glunch"-^^ 

0' your disdain, 
Out-owre a glass o' whisky punch 

Wi' honest men. 

O whisky ! soul o' plays and pranks ! 
Accept a Bardie's gratef u' thanks ! 
When wanting thee, what tuneless 
cranks 

Are my poor verses ! 
Thou comes — they rattle i' their ranks 

At ither's a — es. 

Thee, Ferintosh ! oh, sadly lost ! 
Scotland lament frae coast to coast ! 
Now colic grips, and barkin' hoast,^^ 

May kill us a'; 
For loyal Forbes's charter'd boast. 

Is ta'en awa' ! 

Thae curst horse-leeches o' th' Excise, 
Wha mak the whisky-stells their prize! 
Haud up thy han', deil ! ance, twice, 
thrice ! 

There, seize the blinkers!^'' 
And bake them up in brunstane pies 
Forapoor damn'd drinkers, 

Fortune ! if tliou'll but gie me still 
Hale breeks, a scone, and whisky gill, 
And rowth^^ o' rhyme to rave at will, 

Tak a' the rest. 
And deal't about as thy blind skill 

Directs the best. 



2* Ask. 25 Sickness. 26 Rough fellow 
'JT Meddle. 26 pace with a grin. 29 Cough. 



30 A contemptuous term. 



Abundance. 



POEMS. 



&t 



REMORSE. 

A FRAGMENT. 

The following lines occur in an early Com- 
monplace-book of the poet's, and probably 
relate to the consequences of his first serious 
error : — 

Of all the numerous ills that hurt our 
peace, [with anguish, 

That press the soul, or wring the mind 
Beyond comparison, the worst are those 
Tliat to our folly or our guilt we owe. 
In every other circumstance, the mind 
Has this to say—' ' It was no deed of 

mine;" 
But when, to all the evil of misfortune, 
This sting is added — " Blame thy fool- 
ish self," [morse— 
Or, worser far, the pangs of keen re- 
The torturing, gnawing consciousness 
of guilt — [others, 
Of guilt perhaps where we've involved 
The young, the innocent, who fondly 
lo'ed us, [of ruin! 
Nay, more — that very love their cause 
O burning liell! in all thy store of tor- 
ments. 
There's not a keener lash ! [liis heart 
Lives there a man so firm, who, while 
Feels all the bitter horrors of his crime, 
Can reason down its agoniring throbs; 
And, after proper purpose of am.end- 
ment, [to peace? 
Can firmly force his jarring thoughts 
Oh, happy, happy, enviable man! 
Oh, glorious magnanimity of soul I 



ANSWER TO A POETICAL 
EPISTLE. 

SENT TO THE AUTHOR BY A TAILOR 

A tailor in the neighbourhood of Mauchlme 
having taken it upon him to send the poet a 
rhymed homily on his loose conversation 
and irregular behaviour, received the fol- 
lowing lines in reply to his lecture : — 

"What ails ye now, ye lousie bitch, 
To thrash my back at sic a pitch? 
Losh, man! hae mercy wi' your natch, ^ 

Your bodkin's bauld, 
I didna suffer half sae much 

Frae Daddie Auld. 



Crip. 



What though at times, Vvhen I grow. 

crouse,- 
I gie the dames a random pouse, 
Is that enough for yoti to soase^ 

Your servant sae? [louse 

Gae mind your seam, ye prick-the- 
And jag-the-fiae. 

King David, o' poetic brief, 
Wrouglit 'mang the lasses sic mischief 
As fili'd his after life wi' grief 

And bluidy rants. 
And yet he's rank'd among the chief 

O' lang-syne saants. 

And maybe, Tam, for a' my cants,"* 
My wicked rhymes, and drucken rar>t ' 
I'll gie auld cloven Clootie's haiuL, 

An unco slip yet. 
And snugly sit among the saunts 

At Davie's hip yet. 

But fegs,^ the session says I maun 

Gae fa upon anither plan, 

Than garrin' lasses cowp the craa 

Clean heels owre gowdy. 
And sairly thole'' their mither's ban 

Afore the howdy.' 

This leads me on, to tell for sport, 
How I did wi' the session sort: 
Auld Clinkum at the inner port 

Cried three times — " Robin! 
Come hither lad, and answer for't, 

Ye're blamed for jobbin'," 

Wi' pinch I put a Sunday's face on. 
And snooved*^ awa' before the session; 
I made an open, fair confession — 

I scorned to lie; [sion, 
And syne Mess John, beyond expres- 

Fell foul o' me. 

A furnicator-loon he call'd me. 

And said my faut frae bliss expell'd me; 

I own'd the tale was true he tell'd me, 

" But what the matter? " 
Quo' I, " I fear unless )'e geld me, 

I'll ne'er be better. " 

"Geld you!" quo' he, "and what foi 

no? 
If that your right hand, leg or toe, 
Should ever prove your spiritual foe. 
You should remember 



2Happv. 3 Scold. 4 Tricks. » Faith. ^Beaf, 
•? Midvafe. 8 Sneaked 



69 



BURNS' WOiriiS. 



'lo cu\ it afE — and wliat for no 

luuv deaitift member?" 

" Na, na," quo' I, " I'm no for that, 
Geldinfj;'s nae better than 'tis ca't; 
1' rather sutler for my faut, 

A hearty tiewit. 
As sair owre hip as ye can draw't, 

Though I should rue it. 

" Or gin ye like to end the bother. 
To please us a', I've just ae ither — 
When next \vi' ybn lass I forgather, 

Wliate'er betide it, 
I'll frankly g;Vfe her't a' thegither, 

And let her guide it." 

'-•+., sir., this pleased them warst ava, 
Liierefore, Tam, when that I saw, 
1 said, " Guid night," and cam awa'. 

And left the session; 
I saw they were resolved a' 

On my oppression. 



THE AUTHOR'S EARNEST CRY 
AND PRAYER 

TO THE SCOTCH REPRESENT ATIVES TN 
THE HOUSE OF COMMONS. 

For an account of the circumstances which 
gave rise to the following lines, see the in- 
troduction to the poem entitled " Scotch 
Drink," p. 65. 

" Dearest of distillations ! last and best ! 
How art thou lost !" 

—Parody on Milton. 

Ye Irish lords, ye knights and sqiiires, 
Wha represent our bnighs and shires. 
And doucely^ manage our affairs 

In parliament, 
To you a simple Bardie's prayers 

Are humbly sent. 

Alas! my roopit* Muse is hearse! ^ 
Your honours' heart wi' grief 'twad 

pierce. 
To see her sittin' on her a — e 

Low i' the dust, 
And scrachin'^f out prosaic verse 

And like to burst! 



' Soberly. ^ Hoarse. ^ Screaming hoarsely 
—the cry of fowls when displeased. 

* A person with a sore throat and a dry 
tickling cough, is said to be roopy. 

t Some editors give this " ' screechin', 
(screaming), but, taken in connection with 
the hoarseness, every one who has heard the 
word used will endorse our reading. 



Tell them wha hae the chief direction 
[Scotland and me's in great afiliction, 
E'er sin they laid that curst restrictioii 

On aqua vitC3; [tion, 

And rouse them up to strong convic- 

And move their pity. 

Stand forth and tell yon Premie? 

youth, X 
The honest, open, naked truth: 
Tell him o' mine and Scotland'sdrouth,- 

His servants humble: 
The muclde devil blaw ye south. 

If ye dissemble ! | 

Does ony great man glunch^ and gloom? \ 
Speak out, and never fash your • 

thoom I*^ 
Let posts and pensions sink or soom"' 

"V\ 1' them wlia grant 'em: 
If honestly thej canna come, 

Far better want 'em. 

Ingath'rin' Votes you werena slalCj 
Now stand as tightly by your tack; 
Ne'er claw your lug,** and fidge^ your 
back, 

And hum and haw; 
But raise your arm, and tell your 
crack^*^ 

Before them a'. 

Paint Scotland greetin'^^ owre lieT 
thrissle: [whissie; 

Her mutchkin stoup as toom's'- a 
And damn'd excisemen in a bussle, 

Sezzin' a stell. 
Triumphant crushin' 't like a mussle 

Or lampit shell. 

Then on the titlier hand present her, 
A blackguard smuggler right behint 

her. 
And cheek-for-chow a chuffie'^ vi?atnei,, 

Colleaguing join. 
Picking her pouch as bare as winter 

Of a' kind coin. 

Is there that bears the name o' Scot, 
But feels his heart's bluid rising hot, 
To see his poor auld mither's pot 

Thus dung in staves, 
And plunder'd o' her hindm.ost groat 

By gallows knaves '? 



•* Thirst, s Frown. ^ Trouble, your thumb. 
'Swim. «Ear. » Shrug. ""Tale. " Weep» 
ing. ^'■^ Empty. ^^ Fat-faced. 
X William PitU 



POEMS. 



61 



Alas ! I'm but a nameless wiglit, 
Trod i' the mire and out o' sight ! 
But could I like Moiitgomeries fight, § 

Or gab like Bos\vell,|| 
There's some sark-necks I wad draw 
tight, 

And tie some hose well. 

God bless your honours, cant ye see't, 
The kind, auld, cantie carlin greet, '^ 
And no get warmly to your feet, 

And gar them hear it, 
And tell them wi' a patriot heat, 

Ye winna bear it ? 

Some o' you nicely ken the laws. 
To round the pei'lod and pause, 
And wi' rhetoric clause on clause 

To make harangues; 
Then echo through St. Stephen's wa's 

Auld Scotland's wrangy. 

Dempster,*l[ a true-blue Scot I'se war- 
ran'; [ran;*-^ 
Thee, aith-detesting, chaste Kilker- 
And that glib-gabbet^^ Highland baron, 

The laird o' Graham ;ff 
And ane, a chap that's damn'd auld- 
f arran, ^^ 

Dunclas his name. :}::}: 

Erskine,§§ a spunkie'^ Norland baillie; 
True Campbells, Frederick and Hay; HI 
And Livingstone, the bauld Sir Willie; 

And mony ithers, 
Whom auld. Demosthenes or Tully 

MiiJ-iit own for brithers. 



1* The cheerful old wife cry. (Scotland 
personified.) ^^ Ready-tong-ued. ^^ Sagaci- 
ous. 1' Plucky. 

§ Colonel Hugh Montgomery, who had 
served in the American war, and was then 
representing Ayrshire. 

II James Boswell of Auchinleck, the biogra- 
pher of Dr. Samuel Johnson. 

*f George Dempster of Dunnichen, Forfar- 
shire 

** Sir Adam Fergusson of Kilkerran, then 
member for Edinburgh. 
tt The Marquis of Graham. 

Jt Henry Dundas, afterwards Viscount Mel- 
V^ille. 

§§ Thomas Erskine, afterwards Lord Ers- 
tine. 

"II Lord Frederick Campbell, brother to the 
^uke of Argyle,and Hay Campbell, then Lord 
Advocate. 



Thee, Sodger Hugh, my watchman 

stented,*^*^ 
If bardies e'er are represented; 
I ken if that your sword were wanted, 

Ye'd lend your hand: 
But when there's ought to say aneut it, 
Ye're at a stand.*** 

Arouse, my boys: exert your mettle. 
To get auld Scotland back her kettle; 
Or, faith ! I'll wad my new plougli- 
pettle,'*^ 

Ye'll see't or lang. 
She'll teach you, wi' a reekin' whittle,'^ 

Anither sang. 

This while she's been in crankous^o 

mood. 
Her lost militia fired her bluid; 
(Deil na they never mair do good,) 

Play'd her that piislde I^^ 
And now she's like to rin red-wud'-- 

About her whisky. 

x\nd, Lord, if ance they pit her till't, 
Her tartan petticoat she'll kilt. 
And durk and pistol at her belt. 

She'll tak the streets. 
And rin her whittle to the hilt 

r th' first she meets ! 

For God's sake, sirs, then speak htr 

fair, 
And straik'^ her cannie wi' the hair. 
And to the muckle House repair 

AM' instant speed, 
And strive, wi' a' your wit and lear. 

To get remead. 

Yon ill-tongued tinkler, Charlie Fox, 
May taunt you ^^^' his jeers and mocks; 
But gie him't hot, my hearty cocks ! 

E'en cowe the caddie !'-'■* 
And send him to his dicing-box 

And sportin' lady. 

Tell yon guid bluid o' auld Bocon 
nock'sfff 

18 Plough-staff. "9 Knife. 20 lu.rempered, 
restless. ' 21 Trick. 22 Mad. 23 Stroke. 
24 Fellow. 

1^? Being member for Ayr'^hire, the poet 
speaks of him as his stented or vanguard 
watchman. 

*** This stanza alludes to Hugh Montgom- 
erv^'s imperfect elocution. 

Ht William Pitt was the grandson of Robert 
Pitt of Boconnock, in Cornwall. 



10 



BURNS' WORKS. 



I'll be his debt twa mashlum han- 

nocks^tt 
And drink his health in aiild Nanse 
Tinnock's,§§§ 

Nine times a week. 
If he some scheme, like tea and win- 
nocks,|||||| 

Wad kindly seek. 

Could he some commutation broach, 
I'll pledge my aithin giiid braid Scotch. 
He needna fear their foul reproach 

Nor erudition, 
Yon mixtie-maxtie, queer hotch-potch, 

The coalition. 'Ill T[ 



t:t$ Cakes made of oats, beans, and peas, 
with a mixture of wheat or barley flour. 

§§§ A worthy old hostess of the author's in 
Mauchline, where he sometimes studied pol- 
itics over a glass of guid old Scotch drink. — B. 
" Nanse Tinnock is long deceased, and no one 
has caught up her mantle. She is described as 
having been a true ale-zvife^ in the proverbial 
sense of the word— close, discreet, civil, and 
no tale-teller. When any neighbouring wife 
came, asking if her John was here, ' Oh, no,' 
Nanse would reply, shaking money in her 
pocket as she spoke, ' he's no here,' implying 
to the querist that the husband was not m the 
house, \vhile she meant to herself that he was 
not among her half-pence — thus keeping the 
word of promise to the car, but breaking it to 
the hope. Her house was one of two stories, 
and had a front towards the street, by which 
Burns must have entered Mauchline from 
Mossgiel. The date over the door is 1744. It 
is remembered however, that Nanse never 
could understand how the poet should have 
talked of enjoying himself in her house ' nine 
times a week.' 'The iad," she said, 'hardly 
ever drank three half-mutchkins under her 
roof in his life.' Nanse, probably, had never 
heard of the poetical license. In truth, Nanse's 
hostelry was not the only one in Mauchline 
which Burns resorted to : a rather better-look- 
ing house, at the opening of the owgate, 
keft by a person named John Dove, and then, 
and still bearing the arms of Sir John White- 
ford of Ballochmyle, was also a haunt of the 
poet's having this high recommendation, that 
its back windows surveyed those of the house 
in which his ' Jean ' resided. The reader will 
find in its proper place a droll epitaph on John 
Dove, in which the honest landlord's religion 
is made out to be a mere comparative appreci- 
ation of his various liquors."— Chambers. 

Illill Pitt, the Chancellor of the Exchequer, 
had gained some credit by a measure intro- 
duced in 1784 for preventing smuggling of tea 
by reducing the duty, the revenue being com- 
pensated by a tax on windows, 

If T Mixtie-maxtie is Scotch for a mixture 
^f incongruous elements. Hotch-potch is a 
iish composed of all sorts of vegetables. 
This coalition, like many others since, v/as in 
3ie poet's eyes an unnatural banding together 
of men of difTerent opinions. 



Aiild Scotland has a raucle'" tong-ue; 
She's just a devil wi' a rung:''^'* 
And if she promise auld or young 

To tak their part, 
Though by the neck she should be 
strung. 

She'll no desert. 

And now, ye chosen Five-and-For^ 



ty 



[y 



May still your mother's heart support 
Then though a minister grow dorty,-'' 

And kick your place, 
Ye'll snap your fingers, poor and 
hearty. 

Before his face. 

God bless your honours a' your days 
Wi' sowps'-*^ o' kail and brats o' claise,'^^ 
In spite o' a' the thievish kaes'° 

That haunt St. Jamie's ! 
Your humble poet sings and prays 

While Bab his name is. 



POSTSCRIPT. 

Let half -starved slaves in warmer skies 
See future wines, rich clust'ring, risej 
Their lot auld Scotland ne'er envies. 

But blythe and frisky. 
She eyes her free-born, martial boys, 

Tak aft" their whisky. 

What though their Phoebus kinder 

warms, [charms ! 

\Miile fragrance blooms ,and beauty 

\\'hen wretches range, in famish'd 

swarms. 

The scented groves. 
Or, hounded forth, dishonour arms 
In hungry droves. 

Their gun's a burthen on their sliou- 

ther; 
They downa bide^^ the stink o' poutber; 
Their bauldest thought's a hank'ring 
swither^"'^ 

To Stan' or rin, [ther,^^ 
Till skelp— a shot— they're aff a' throu'- 
To save their skin. 



25 Rough. 2fi Cudgel. -'' Sulky. ^2* Spoon 
fuls. 23 Rags o' clothes, so jackdaws, 3i They 
dare not stand. ^^ Uncertainty. ^^ Pell mell. 

**** The number of Scotch representa- 
tives. 



POEMb'. 



But bring a Scotsman frae his liill. 
Clap in his cheek a Highland gill, 
Say, such is royal George's will, 

And there's the foe : 
He has nae thought but how to kill 

Twa at a blow. 

Nae cauld, faint-hearted doubtings 
tease him; [him; 

Death comes — wi' fearless eye he sees 
vVi' bl uidy han' a welcome gies liim ; 

And when he fa's, [him, 
His latest draught o' breathin' lea'es 

In faint huzzas ! 

Sages their solemn een may steekj^"* 
And raise a philosophic reek/^ 
And physically causes seek. 

In clime and season; 
But tell me whisky's name in Greek, 

I'll tell the reason. 

Scotland, my auld, respected mither ! 
Though whiles ye moistify your 

leather. 
Till whare ye sit, on craps o' heather, 

Ye tine^'' your dam; 
Freedom and whisky gang thegither! — 

Tak a£E your dram ! 



THE AULD FARMER'S NEW-YEAR 

MORNING SALUTATION TO HIS 

AULD MARE MAGGIE, 

ON GIVING HER THE ACCUSTOMED RIP 

OF CORN TO HANSEL IN THE NEW 

YEAR. 

Most editors have alluded to the tenderness 
of Burns towards the lower animals ; this is 
a true poetic instinct, and with him was un- 
usually strong. The Ettrick Shepherd says, 
in a note to this poem . — '' Burns must have 
been an exceedingly good and kind-hearted 
being ; for whenever he has occasion to 
address or mention any subordinate being, 
however mean, even a mouse or a flower, 
then there is a gentle pathos in his language 
that awakens the finest feelings oi the 
heart." 

A Guro New-Year I wish thee, Maggie! 
Hae, there's a rip^ to thy auld baggie. 
Though thou's howe-backit now and 
knaggie,''^ 

3* Eyes may shut. ^5 Smoke, s* Lose. 

1 A handful of corn in the stalk, ^ Bent- 
backed and ridged. 



I've seen the day 
Thou could hae gaen like ony .staggie 
Out owrethe lay.^ 

Thou now thou's dowie,-* stiff and 

crazy. 
And thy auld hide's as white's adaisv, 
I've seen thedappl't, sleek andglazie,^' 

A bonny gray . 
He should been tight that daur't la 
laize*^ thee, 

Ance in a day. 

Thou ance was i' the foremost ranli, 
A filly buirdly, steeve and swank, ^ 
And set weel down a shapely shank. 

As e'er tread yird;^ 
And could hae flown out-owre a stank,* 

Like ony bird. 

It's now some nine-and-twenty year, 
Sin' thou was my guid father's meer: 
He gied me thee, o' tocher'^ clear. 

And fifty mark; [gear, 
Though it was sma', twas weelA^on 

And thou was stark. '^ 

When first I gaed to woo my Jenny, 
Ye then was trottin' wi' your Minnie, '^ 
Though ye was trickle, slee, and fun- 
nie. 

Ye ne'er was donsie'^ 
But hamely, towie, quiet, and cannie,^"* 

And unco sonsie.^^ 

That day ye pranced Avi' muckle pride 
When ye bure hame my bonny bride: 
And sweet and gracef u' she did ride, 

Wi' maiden air ! 
Kyle-Stewart* I could hae bragged'® 
wide, 

For sic a pair. 

Though now ye dow but hoyte and 

hoble,'^ 
And wintle like a saumont coble, '^ 
That daf ye was j inker ^^ noble. 
For heels and win' I 



2 Grass-field. * Low-spirited. * Shin- 
mg. ^ Excite, ^ Stately, strong, active. 
8 Earth. ^ Ditch. lo Dowry. ^ Strong 
^"^ Mother. ^^ Mischievous. ^* Good' 

natured. '^ Engaging. i* Challenged. 

^'' Can but limp and totter. >=* Twist, like 
the ungainly boat used by salmon fishers. 
'^ Runner. 

*The district between the Ayr and th« 
Doon. 



72 



BUPiNS' VfOIIKS. 



And ran them till they a' did wauble.^o 
Far, far, behin') 

When thou and I were young and 

skeigh,''' 
And stable -meals at fairs were dreigh,-^ 
How thou would prance, and snore and 
skreigh 

And tak the road ! 
To^vn's bodies ran, and stood abeigh,^^ 
And ca't thee mad. 

When thou was corn't, and I was mel- 
low, 
We took the road aye like a swallow: 
At Brooses--* thou had ne'er a fellow, 

For pith and speed; 
But every tail thou pay't them hollow, 
• Whare'er thou gaed. 

The sma' droop-rumpl't,"^ hunter cat- 
tle. [tle;-e 
Might aiblins waur't thee for a brat- 
But sax Scotch miles thou try't their 
mettle, 

And gar't them whaizle" 
Nae whupnor spur, but just a wattle''^ 
O' saugh or hazle. 

Thou was a noble fittie-lan',^^ 
As e'er in tug or tow was drawn ! 
Aft thee and I, in aught hours' gaun, 

In guid INIarch weather, 
Hae tum'd sax rood beside our lian', 

For days thegither. 

Thou never braindg't, and fecli't, and 
fiiskit,3o [Idt,si 

But thy auld tail thou wad hae whis- 
And spread abreed thy well-fill'd bris- 
ket, ^'-i 

Wi' pith and pow'r, 
'Till spritty knowes wad rair't and 
risket,^^ 

And slypet owre. 

When frosts lay lang, and snaws were 

deep, 
And threaten'd labour back to keep, 

20 Stagger— exhausted. 21 Mettlesome, 

22 Scarce 23 Aside. 24 Wedding races. 
2s Sloping-backed. 26 Might perhaps have 

beaten thee for a short race. ^7 Wheeze. 
2** A switch. 29 -phe near horse of the hind- 
most pair in the plough, ^o Never pulled by 
fits or starts, or fretted, si Shalcen. '^' Breast. 
'3 Till hard, dry hillocks would open with a 
cracking sound, the earth faUing gertly over. 



I gied thy cog^ a wee bit heap 
Aboon the timmer; 

I kenn'd my Maggie wadna sleep 
For that, or simmer. 

In cart or car thou never reestit;"-' [it; 
The steyest^*" brae thou wad hae faced 
Thou never lap, and sten't, and breast 
it,«' 

Then stood to blaw; 
But just thy step a wee thing hastit,"® 
Thou snoov't awa. 

]My pleugh is now thy bairn-time a';^^ 
Fovir gallant brutes as e'er did draw ; 
Forbye sax mae, I've sell't awa', 

That thou hast nurst : 
They drew me tliretteen pund and 
twa. 

The vera warst. 

Isionj a sair darg'^^ we twa hae wrought, 
And wi' the weary warl' fought ! 
And mony an anxious day I thought 

We wad be beat ! 
Yet here to crazy age we're brought 

Wi' something yet. 

And think na, my auld trusty servan', 
That now perhaps thou's less deser- 

vin'. 
And thy auld days may end in starvin', 

For my last fou, 
A heapit stimpart,'^' I'll reserve ane 

Laid by for you. 

We've worn to crazy years thegither ; 
We'll toyte-*"^ about wi' ane^anither , 
Wi' tentie care I'll flit thy tether 

To some hain'd rig,'^^ [er, 
Whare ye may nobly rax^ your leath- 

Wi' sma' fatigue. 



THE TWA DOGS : 

A TALE. 

Gilbert Burns says :— " The tale of ' The Twa 
Dogs' was composed after the resolution of 
publishing was nearly taken. Robert had a 
dog, which he called Luath, that was a 
great favourite. The dog had been killed 
by the wanton cruelty of some person, the 

34 Wooden measure, ss Stopped. ^^ Steep* 
est. ^' Nev'er leaped, reared, or started for 
ward. ^^ Quickened. ^9 My plough team 
are all thy children. ^0 Day's labour. ^1 A 
measure of corn the eighth part of a buohel. 
«a Totter. " Saved ridge of grass- ^4 Stretch. 



POEMS. 



7^ 



night before my father's death. Robert said 
to me that he should Uke to confer such im- 
mortahty as he could bestow on his old 
friend Luath, and that he had a great mind 
to introduce something into the book under 
the title of * Stanzas to the Memory of a 
Quadruped Friend ;' but this plan was given 
up for the poem as it now stands.^ Caesar 
Was merely the creature of the poet's imag- 
inatLon. created for the purpose of holding 
chat with his favourite Luath." The factor 
who stood for h s portrait here was the same 
of vhom he writes to Dr. Moore in 1787 :— 
"■ r>.y indignation yet boils at the scoundrel 
factor's insolent threatening letters, which 
used to set us all in tears." All who have 
been bred in country die* riots will have no 
difficulty in finding parallels to the factor of 
the poem. Often iUiterate and unfeeling, 
they think to gain the favour of the laird by 
an over-zealous pressure on poor but honest 
tenants, who, if gently treated, would 



'Twas in that place o' Scotland's isle, 
That bears the name o' auld Iving Coil/ 
Upon a bonnv day in June, 
When wearing through the afternoon, 
Twa dogs that werena thrang- at hanie, 
Forgather' d ance upon a time. 

The first I'll name, they ca'd him Csesar 
Was keepit for his honour's pleasure; 
His hair, his size, his mouth, his lugs,^ 
Show'd he was nane o' Scotland's dogs; 
But whalpit some place far abroad, 
Where sailors gang to fish for cod. 

His locked, letter'd, braw brass collar 
Show'd him the gentleman and scholar; 
Bat thou he was o' high degree. 
The fient"* a pride — nae pride had he; 
But vvad hae spent an hour caressin'. 
Even wi' a tinliler-gypsy's messan:^ 
At kirk or market, mill or smiddie, 
Kae tawted*^ tyke, though e'er sae 

duddie,^ 
But he A^ad stan't, as glad to see him. 
And stroan't* on stanes and hillocks 

wi' him. 

The tither was a ploughman's collie, 
A-rhyming, ranting, roving billie, [him, 
Wha for his friend and comrade had 
And in his freaks had Luath ca'd him, 
After some dog in Highland sang,* 



1 The middle district of Ayrshire. 2 Busy. 
3 Ears. ■* A petty oath — "'the devil a bit o'.'" 
5 Cur. s Matted and dirty. '' Ragged. 
8 Pissed. 

* Cuchullin's dog in Ossian's "■ Fingal." 
— B. 



Was made lang syne — Lord knavvd iio .v^ 
lang. 

He was a gash^ and faithf u' tyke. 
As ever lap a sheiigh'" or dike. 
His honest sonsie, baws'nt face,^^ 
Aye gat him friends in ilka place. 
His breast was white, his touzie'- back 
^^'eel clad wi' coat 'o glossy blaclv; 
His gaucie'^ tail, wi' upward curl. 
Hung o'er his hurdies^'^ ^vi' a swirl. 

Nae doubt but they were fain o'ither,^^ 
And unco pack and thick^'' thegitlier; 
Wi' social nose whyles snulf'd and 
snowkit,^^ [liowkit;'^ 

Whyles mice and moudieworts they 
Whyles scour'd awa' in lang excursion. 
And worried ither in diversion; 
Until wi' datfin''^ weary grown, 
Upon a knowe-"^ they sat them down, 
And there began a lang digression 
About the lords o' the creation. 

C^SAR. 

Bve often wonder'd, honest Luath, 
What sort o' life poor dogs like yo 1 

have, 
And when the gentry's life I saw. 
What way poor bodies lived ava. 

Our laird gets in his racked rents, 
His coals, his kain, and a' his stents;-* 
He rises when he likes hinisel; 
Ilis flunkies answer at the bell; 
He ca's his coach, he ca's his horse; 
He draws a bonny silken purse [steeks,-^ 
As 'ang's my tail, whare, through the 
The yellow-letter' d Geordie keeks. ^^ 

Frae morn to e'en it's nought but toil- 

ii^g. 

At baking, roasting, fr\ing boiling; 

xVnd though the gentry first are 
stechin,''^^ 

Yet e'en the ha' folk fill their pechan-* 

Wi' sauce, ragouts, and siclike trash- 
trie, 



9 Knowing. ^® Ditch. >i His honest 

comely, white-striped face. '^ Shaggy. 

•3 Bushy. '"^ Hips. ^^ Fond of each other. 
10 Very interested and friendly. ''Scented. 
i** Sometimes for mice and moles they dug. 
!"•» Sporting. 20 Hillock. 21 His corn rents and 
assessments. 2 Stitches. 23 Glances. 24 Stuff- 
ing. ^^ Stomach. 



74: 



BIJRJNiS' WORKS. 



That's little short o' downright wastrie, 

Our whipper-in, we, blastit wouner,-** 

Poor worthless elf, it eats a dinner 

Better than ony tenant man 

His honour has in a' the Ian'; 

And what poor cot-folk pit their 

painch'^^ in, 
I own it's past my comprehension. 

LUATH 

Trowth, Ctiesar, whyles they're fasht'^^ 

enough ; 
A cotter howkin' in a sheugh,^^ 
Wi' dirty stanes biggin' a dike, 
Baring a quarry, and siclike; 
Himsel, a wife, he thus sustains, 
A smytrie o' wee duddie weans, ^"^ 
And nought but his han' darg^^ to keep 
Them right and tight in thack and rape^'- 

And when they meet wi' sair disasters, 
Like loss o' health or want o' masters. 
Ye maist wad think, a wee touch langer, 
And they maun starve o' cauld and 

hunger; 
But how it comes I never kenn'd yet, 
They're maistly wonderfu' contented ; 
And buirdly cliiels, and clever hizzies,^^ 
Are bred in sic a way as this is. 

C.-ESAR. 

But then to how ye're negleckit, [it I 
Howhuff'd, and cufE'd, and disrespeck- 
Lord, man, our gentry care as little 
For del vers, ditchers, and sic cattle; 
They gang as saucy by poor folk 
As 1 wad by a stinkin' brock. "-^ 
I've noticed, on our laird's court-day. 
And mony a time my heart's been wae. 
Poor tenant bodies, scant o' cash, 
How they maun thole a factor's snash:^^ 
He'll stamp and threaten, curse and 

swear; 
He'll apprehend them, poind their gear; 
While they maun stan', wi' aspect 

liumble. 
And hear it a', and fear and tremble ! 

I see how folk live that hae riches; 
But surely poor folk maun be wretches! 



"8 Wonder, a contemptuous appellation. 
27 Paunch. 28 Troubled. 29 Digging in a 
ditch. 30 A number of ragged children. 
^^ Day's work. ^2 Under a roof-tree. — 

literally, thatch and rope. ^3 Stalwart men 
and clever women. ^4 Badger, ss ^^ar a 
factor's abuse. 



LUATH. 

They're no sae wretched *s ane wad 

think; 
Tliough constantly on poortith's^^ brink: 
They're sae accustom'd wi' the sight. 
The view o't gies them little fright. 

Then chance and fortune aresaeguidedj 
They're aye in less or mair provided; ' 
And though fatigued wi' close employ " 

ment, 
A blink o' rest's a sweet enjoyment. 

The dearest comfort o' their lives, j 

Their gushie^'' weans and faithfu' 1 

wives ; [pride. 

The prattling things are just tlieir 
That sweetens a' their fire -side; [py-* 
And v/hyles twalpennie worth o' nap- 
Can mak the bodies unco happy ; 
They lay aside tlieir private cares. 
To mind the Kirk and state affairs . 
They'll talk o' patronage and priests, 
Wi' kindling fury in their breasts ; 
Or tell what new taxation's comin'. 
And ferlie*^^ at the folk in Lon'on. 

As bleak -faced Hallorsvmas returns, 
They get the jovial ranting kirns,'*'^ 
When rural life o' every station 
Unite in common recreation ; [Mirth 
Love blinks, Wit slaps, and social 
Forgets there's Care upo' the earth. 

That merry day the year begins 
They bar the door on frosty win's ; 
The nappy reeks wi' mantling ream, 
And sheds a heart-inspiring steam ; 
The luntin x>ipe and sneesliin mill-*^ 
Are handed round wi' right guid will ; 
The cantie"^'^ auld folios crackhi' crouse,-*^ 
The young anes rantin' through the 

house, — 
INIy heart has been sae fain to see them, 
That I for joy hae barkit wi' them. 

Still it's owre true that ye hae said, 
Sic game is now owre aften play'd. ' 
There's mony a creditable stock 
0' decent, honest, fawsont"" folk, 
Are riven out baitli root and branch, 
Some rascal's pridefu' greed to quench, 
Wha thinks to knit himsel the faster 

35 Poverty. ^7 Thriving. 38 ^jg of 

whisky. ^* Wonder. •'o Harvest-homes. 
*^ The smoking pipe and snuH-box. ''^ Cheer- 
ful. *' Talking briskly. ** Seemly, 



POEMS. 



75 



In favour wi' some gentle master, 
Wha aiblins'^^ thrang a parliamentin' 
For Britain's guid his saul indentin' — 

Haith, lad, ye little ken about it ; [it. 
For Britain's guid ! guid faith, I doubt 
Say rather, gaun as Premiers lead him; 
And saying Ay or No's they bid him ; 
At operas and plays parading, 
Mortgaging, gambling, masquerading; 
Or maybe, in a frolic daft. 
To Hague or Calais taks a waft,'*^ 
To make a tour, and tak a whirl. 
To learn hon ton, and see the worF. 

There, at Vienna or Versailles, 
He rives Ill's father's auld entails ;^^ 
Or by idadrid he takes the route, [te;^*^ 
To tiiriim guitars, and fecht wi' now- 
Or down Italian vista startles, [ties. 
Whore-hunting among groves o' myr- 
TUen bouses drumly German water. 
To mak himsel look fair and fatter. 
And clear the consequential sorrows, 
Love-gifts of Carnival signoras. 
For Britain's guid !— for her destruction ! 
Wi' dissipation, feud, and faction ! 

LUATH. 

Hech man ! dear sirs ! is that the gate 
They waste sae mony a braw estate ! 
Are we sae foughten and harass'd 
For gear to gang that gate at last ! 

Oh, would they stay aback fra courts, 
And please themselves wi' country 

sports. 
It wad for every ane be better. 
The Laird, The Tenant, and the Cot- 
ter ! 
For tliae frank, rantin' ramblin' billies, 
Fient liaet o' them's ill-hearted fellows; 
Except for breakin' o' their timmer, 
Or speakin' lightly o' their limmer, 
Or shootin' o' a hare or moorcock. 
The ne'er a bit they're illtopoor folk. 

But will ye tell me, Master Csssar, 
Sure great folk's life's a life o' pleasure? 
Nae cauld nor hunger e'er can steer 

them, 
The very thought o't needna fear them. 



^» Perhaps. 
on liis estate. 



*^ A trip. *'' Breaks the entail 
■** See bull-fighis. 



C^SAR. 

Lord, man, were ye but wliyles whare 

I am. 
The gentles ye wad ne'er envy 'em. 
It's true they needna starve nor sweat, 
Through winter's cauld or simmer's 

heat; [banes, 

They've nae sair wark to craze their 
And fill auld age wi' grips andgranes:-' 
But human bodies are sic fools. 
For a' their colleges and schools. 
That when nae real ills perplex them. 
They mak enow themsels to vex them; 
And aye the less they hae to sturt^*^ 

them. 
In like proportion less will hurt them. 

A country fellow at the pleugh. 
His acres till'd, he's right eneugh; 
A country girl at her wheel, 
Her dizzens done, she's unco weel: 
But Gentlemen, and Ladies warst, 
Wi' evendown want o' wark are curst. 
They loiter, lounging, lank, and lazy; 
Though deil haet^^ ails them, yet 

uneasy; 
Their days insipid, dull, and tasteless; 
Their nights unquiet, lung, and restless; 
And e'en their sports, their balls and 

races, 
Their galloping through public places, 
There's sic parade, sic pomp and art. 
The joy can scarcely reach the heart, 

The men cast out in party matches, 
Then sowther^'^ a' in deep debauches; 
Ae night they're mad wi' drink and 

whoring, 
Neist day their life is past enduring. 

The Ladies arm-in-arm in clusters. 
As great and gracious a' as sisters; 
But hear their absent thoughts o' ither. 
They're a' run deils and jads^^ the- 
gither. [tie, 

Whyles, owre the wee bit cup and pla- 
They sip the scandal potion pretty: 
Or lee-lang nights, wi' crabbit leuks. 
Pore owre the devil's pictured beuks; 
Stake on a chance a farmer's stackyard. 
And cheat like ony unhanged black- 
guard, [man; 
There's some exception, man and wo- 
But this is Gentry's life in common. 

49 Pains and groans, ^o Trouble. ^^ DeviJ 
a thing. " Solder. " A giddy girl. 



V6 



"RT'TIXS' WOTT: 



By this, the sun ^vas out o' sight, 
Aud darker gloaming brouglit the 
night; [drone; 

Tlie bum-clock^^ humm'd wi' lazy 
The kye stood rowtin^^ i' the loan: 
When ap they gat and shook their lugs, 
Rejoiced they werena men, but dogs; 
And each took all his several way, 
lieaolved to meet some ither day. 



TO A LOUSE, 

ON SEEING ONE ON A LADY' S BONNET 
AT CHURCH. 

Bums's fastidious patrons and patronesses 
sometimes ventured to lecture him on the 
homeliness and vulgarity of some of his 
themes. '' The Address to a Louse " was a 
notable instance. The poet defended it on 
account of the moral conveyed, and he was 
right, we think. He was ever impatient of 
criticism and suggestions ; and, judging 
from the kind of criticisms and suggestions 
frequently offered to him, we may be glad 
that he so freauently followed his own judg- 
ment. 

Ha ! whare ye gaun. ye crowiin' 

ferlie !* 
Your impuaence protects yon sairly: 
I canna say but ye strunf- rarely, 

Owre gauze and lace; 
Though, faith, I fear ye dine but 
sparely 

On sic a place 

Ye ugly, creepin', blastit wonner, [ner, 
Deteste'd, shunn'd, by saunt and sin- 
How dare ye set your fit upon her, 

Sae fine a lady ? 
Gae somewhere else, and seek your 
dinner 

On some poor body 

Swith, in some beggar's hafEet squattle^ 
There ye may creep, and sprawl, and 

sprattle^ 
Wi' ither kindred, jumping cattle. 
In shoals and nations; 
Whare horn nor bane ne'er daur un- 
settle^ 

Your thick plantations. 

" Beetle. ^^ Lowing. 

* Wonder. * Strut. ^ Swift crawl in some 
beggars hair. * Scramble. ^ Where the hair 
is never combed. 



Now baud you there, ye're out o' sight 
Below the fatt'rils,*^ snug and tight; 
Na, faith ye yet ! ye'll no be right 

Till ye've got on it. 
The very tapmost, towering heighl 

O' Miss's bonnet. 

My sooth! right bauld ye set your nose 

out, 
As plump and gray as ony grozet:' 
Oh for some rank, mercurial rozet ,** 
Or fell, red smeddum,^ 
I'd gie you sic a heart)' doze o't, 

Wad dress your droddum!^'' 

I wadna been sirrprised to spy 
You on an auld wife's flaunen toy:^^ 
Or aiblins some bit duddie boy, 

On's wyliecoat;'-^ 
But Miss's fine Lunardi !- fie ! 

How daur ye do't ? 

O Jenny, dinna toss your head. 
And set your beauties a' abread ! 
Ye I'ttle ken what cursed speed 

The blastie's makin' ! 
The winks and finger-ends, I dread. 

Are notice taldn' ! 

Oh wad some power the giftie gie us 

To see oursels as others see us ! 

It wad frae mony a blunder free us, 

And foolish notion: ["-^s 
What airs in dress and gait wad Ita'e 

And even devotion 1 



THE ORDINATION. 

" For sense they little owe to frugal 
Heaven — 
To please the mob, they hide the little 
given." 

Kilmarnock wabsters,* fidgeand claw 
And pour your creeshie nations:^ 

And ye wha leather rax^ and draw 
Of a' denominations,! 



" The ribbon ends. '' Gooseberry. ^ Rosin. 
^ Powder. '" Breach. ^^ Flannel cap. 

12 Flannel Waistcoat. 

1 Weavers. ^ Greasy crowds. ^ Stretch. 

* A kind of bonnet, at onetime fashionable, 
called after an Italian aeronaut. 

t Kilmarnock was then a town of between 
three and four thousand inhabitants, most of 
whom were engaged in the manufacture of 
carpets ind other coarse woollen goods, or ia 
the preparation of leather. 



POEMS. 



77 



Swith to the Laigli Kirk, ane and a', 
And there tak up your stations; 

Then aft" to Begbie's f in a raw. 
And pour divine libations 
For joy this day. 

Curst Common Sense, that imp o' hell, 

Cam in with Mag-gie Lauder;:}: 
But Oliphant aft made her yell. 

And Russell sair misca'd her; § 
This day I\Iackinlay taks the flail', 

And he's the boy will biaud'^ her ! 
Hell clap a shangan^ on her tail, 

And set the bairns to daud*^ her 
Wi' dirt this day. 

Mak haste and turn king David owre, 

And lilt wi' holy clangor; 
O' double verse come gie us four, 

And skirl up the Bangor: 
Thi? day the Kirk kicks up a stoure,'' 

"Xae mair the knaves shall wrang her. 
For Heresy is in her power. 

And gloriously she'll whang^ her 
Wi' pith this day. 

Come, let a proper text be read, 

And touch it aft wi' vigour, 
How graceless Ham|| leugh at his dad, 

Which made Canaan a nigger; 
Or Phinehas^ drove the murdering 
blade, 

Wi' whore-abhorring ri2:our; 
OrZipporah,*^ the scauldin' jade, 

Was like a bluidy tiger 

I' the inn that day. 

There, try his mettle on the creed, 

And bind him down wi' caution, 
Tliat stipend is a carnal weed 

He taks but for the fashion; 
And gie him owre the flock to feed. 

And punish each transgression; 
Especial, rams that cross the breed, 

Gie them sufficient threshin'. 

Spare them nae day. 



4 Slap, s A cleft stick. ^ Bespatter. "< A dust. 
8 La^h. 

t A tavern near the church kept by a per- 
son of this name. 

X Alluding to a scoffing ballad which was 
made on the admission of the late rever- 
end and worthy Mr. Lindsay to the Laigh 
Kirk.-B. 

§ Oliphant and Russellwere ministers of the 
Auld-Licht party. 

1! Genesis ix. 22. 

*f Numbers xxv. 8. 

** Exodus iv. 25, 



Novv-, auld Kilmarnock, cock thy tail, 

And toss thy horns fu' canty ;^ [dale, 
Nae mair thou' It rowte'° out-owre the 

Because thy pasture's scanty; 
For lapfu's large o' gospel kail 

Shall fill thy crib in plenty. 
And runts^' o' grace the pick and wale. 

No gien by way o' dainty, 
But ilka day. 

Nae mair by Babel's streams we'll 
weep, 

To think upon our Zion; 
And hing our fiddles up to sleep, 

Like baby-clouts a-dryin'; [cheep, 
Come, screw the pegs, wd' tunefu' 

And o'er the thairms*-' be tryin'; 
Oh, rare ! to see our elbucks wheep,'^ 

AnJ a' like lamb-tails flyin' 
Fu' fast this day ! 

Lang, Patronage, wi' rod o' airn, 

Has shored'-^ the Kirk's undoin', 
As lately Fen wick, ff sair forfairn,^^ 

Has proven to its ruin: 
Our patron, honest man ! Glencairn, 

He saw mischief was brewin'; 
And, like a godly elect bairn. 

He's waled"' us out a true ane, 
And sound this day. 

Now, Robinson, :)::}: harangue nae mair, 

Bui steek your gab''' for ever: 
Or try the wicked town of Ayr, 

For there they'll think you clever ! 
Or, nae reflection on your lear, 

Ye may commence a shaver; 
Or to the Netherton^^ repair. 

And turn a carpet- weaver 

AJf-hand this day. 

MutrieJIII and you were just a match. 
We never had sic twa drones: 

Auld Hornife did the Laigh Kirk watch. 
Just like a winkin' baudrons,'^ 

And aye he catch'd the tither wretch. 
To fry them in his caudrons : 

'•' Merry. ^^ Low. ^^ Cabbage stems, 

'2 Strings. '^ Elbows jerk. '.■• Threater.cl. 
'^ Menaced. 1^ Chosen. ^^ Shut your mouth. 
18 A cat. 

tt Rev. William Boyd, minister of Fenwick, 
whose settlement had been disputed. 

XX The colleague of the newly-ordamed 
clergyman— a moderate. 

§§ A part of the town of Kilmarnock. 

ill The deceased clergyman, whom Mr 
Mackinlay succeeded. 



rs 



BURNS' WORKS. 



But now his lionour maun detach, 
Wi' a' his brimstone squadrons, 
Fast, fast this day. 

See, see auld Orthodoxy's faes 

She's svvingein''^ through the city ; 
Hark, how the nine-tail d cat she plays! 

I vow its unco pretty : [lace, 

There, Learning, with his Greekish 

Grunts out some Latin ditty ; 
And Common Sense is gaun, she says, 

To mak to Jamie Beattie 'i^ 
Her plaint this day 

But there's Morality himsel, 

Embracing all opinions ; 
Hear how he gies the tither yell, 

Between his twa companions ; 
See how she peels the skin and fell,^*' 

As ane were peelin' onions ! 
Now there — they're packed aff to hell, 

And banish'd our dominions 

Henceforth this day. 

O happy day ! rejoice, rejoice ! 

Come bouse about the porter ! 
Morality's demure decoys 

Shall here nae mair find quarter : 
Mackinlay, Russell, are the boys, 

That Heresy can torture, 
They'll gie her on a rape a hoyse,-^ 

And cowe"'^ her measure shorter 
By the head some day. 

Come, bring the tither mutchkin in. 

And here's, for a conclusion. 
To every New-Light *** mother's son, 

From this time forth, Confusion : 
If mair they deave'^^ ^^g -wf tbeir din. 

Or patronage intrusion. 
We'll light a spunk, '^^ and, every skin. 

We'll ring them aff in fusion, 
Like oil some day. 



ADDRESS TO THE UNCO GUID, 
OR THE RIGIDLY RIGHTEOUS. 

" My son, these maxims make a rule, 
And lump them aye thegither : 
The rigid righteous is a fool, 
The rigid wise anither ; 



1'' Whipping. 20 fhe flesh under the skin. 
21 A swing in a rope. 22 q^^^ 23 Deafen. 
3* A match. 

t5 The well-known author of the " Essay 
on Truth." 

*** '' New Light" is a cant phrase, in the 
west of Scotland, for those religious opinions 
which Dr. Taylor of Norwich has defended 
60 strenuously.— B. 



The cleanest corn that e'er «vas dight 
May hae some pyles o" cafif in ; 

So ne'er a fellow-creature slight 
For random tits o' daffin." 

—Solomon.— Eccles. vii. i6. 

YE Avha are sae guid yoursel, 

Sae pious and sae holy, 
Ye've nought to do but mark and tell 

Your neibour's fauts and folly ! 
Whase life is like a weel-gaun mill, 

Supplied wi' store o' water, 
The heapet happer's ebbing still. 

And still the clap plays clatter. 

Hear me, ye venerable core. 

As counsel for poor mortals, [dooi 

That frequent past douce^ Wisdom's 
For glakif'^ Folly's portals; 

I, for their thoughtless, careless sakes, 
Would here propone defences, 

Their donsie'^ tricks, their black mis- 
takes. 

Their failings and mischances. 

Ye see your state wi' theirs compared, 

And shudder at the niffer,-* 
But cast a moment's fair regard, 

What maks the mighty differ ? 
Discount what scant occasion gave, 

That purity ye pride in, 
And (what's aft mair than a' the lave) 

Your better art o' hiding. 

Think, when your castigated pulse 

Gies now and then a wallop, 
What raging must his veins convulse, 

That still eternal gallop; 
Wi' wind and tide fair i' your tail, 

Right on ye scud your sea-way; 
But in the teeth o' baith to sail, 

It makes an unco lee -way. 

See social life and glee sit down. 

All joyous and unthinking, [growr 
Till, quite transmugrified,-^ ihey'rt 

Debauchery and drinking: 
Oh would they stay to calculate 

The eternal consequences: 
Or your more dreaded hell to state. 

Damnation of expenses ! 

Ye high, exalted, virtuous dames. 

Tied up in godly laces, 
Before ye gie poor frailty names 

Suppose a change o' cases; 






1 Thoughtful. 2 Senseless. ^ \j!riluv«5f 
i * Comparison. * Transformed. 



POEMS. 



79 



A dear-loved lad, convenience snug, 
A treacherous inclination — 

But, let me whisper i' your lug,^ 
Ye're aiblins' nae temptation. 

Then gently scan your brother man, 

Still gentler sister woman; [wrang, 
Though they may gang a kennin'*^ 

To step aside, is human: 
One point must still be greatly dark, 

The moving why they do it: 
And just as lamely can ye mark 

How far perhaps they rue it. 

Who made the heart, 'tis He alone 

Decidedly can try us; 
He knows each chord — its various tone, 

Each spring — its various bias: 
Then at the balance let's be mute. 

We never can adjust it; 
WTiat's done we partly may compute, 

But know not what's resisted. 



THE INVENTORY, 

IX ANSWER TO A MANDATE BY THE 
SURVEYOR OF TAXES. 

Sir, as your mandate did request, 
I send you here a faithfu' list 
0' guids and gear, and a' my graith. 
To which I'm clear to gie my aith. 

Imprimis, then, for carriage cattle, 
I liae four brutes o' gallant mettle, 
As ever drew afore a pettle,^ 
riy han'-af ore's- a guid auld Tias-heen. 
And wight and willf u' a' his days been 
Lly han'-ahin's^ a weel-gaun filly. 
That aft has borne me hame fae Killie,* 
And your auld burro' mony a time, 
In days when riding v.-as nae crime — 
But ance, when in my wooing pride, 
I, like a l3lockhead boost^ to ride, 
The wilfu' creature sae I pat to 
(Lord, pardon a' my sins, and that too!) 
I play'd my filly sic a shavie,^ 
fihe's a bedevil'd wi' the spavie. 
I^Iy fur-ahin's^ a worthy beast, 



« Ear. ■^ Perhaps. ^ a little bit. 

^ A plough spade. 2 The foremost horse on 
the left-hand in the plough. 3 The hindmost 
horse on the left-hand in the plough. ■* Must 
needs. ^ a. trick. ^ The hindmost horse on 
the right-hand in the plough. 
* Kilmarnock. 



As e'er in tug or tow was traced, [ti'^, 

The fourth's a Highland Donald hab- 

A damn'd red-wud Kilburnie blastie ! 

Forbyea cowte,'' o' co^^'te's the vvaie,^ 

As ever ran afore a tail; 

If he be spared to be a beast. 

He'll draw me fifteen pun' at least, 

"SMieel -carriages I liae but few, 
Three carts, and twa are feckly^ new; 
An auld wheelbarrow, mair for token 
Ae leg and baith the trams are broken; 
I made a poker o' the spin'le, 
And my auld mither brunt the trin'ie. 

For men, I've three mischievous boys, 
Run-deils fot rantin' and for noise 
A gauesman ane, a thrasher t'other; 
Wee Davoc hands the nowte in f other^" 
I rule them, as I ought, discreetly, 
And aften labour them completely; ' 
And aye on Sundays duly, nightly, 
I on the question targe^' them tightly, 
Till, faith, wee Davoc's turn'd sae 

glegi2 

Though scarcely langer than my leg, 
He'll screed you aff Effectual Callingf 
As fast as ony in the dwalliug. 

I've nane in female servan' station, 
(Lord, keep me ae frae a' temptation !) 
1 hae nae wife, and that my bliss is, 
And ye hae laid nae tax on misses ; 
And then, if kirk folks dinna clutch 

me, 
I ken the devils darena touch me. 
Wi' weans I'm mair than weel con- 
tented. 
Heaven sent me ane mair than I wanted. 
My sonsie,'^ smirking, dear-bought 

Bess,:}: 
She stares the daddy in her face. 
Enough of ought you like but grace ; 
But her, my bonny sweet wee lady, 
I've paid enough for her already, 
And gin ye tax her or her mither, 
B' the Lord ! ye'se get them a' the- 
gither. 

T A colt. 8 Choice. » Nearly. 1° Keeps 
the cattle in fodder. n Task, " So sharp 
13 Comely. 

+ A leading Question in the Shorter Cate- 
chism of the Westminster Assembly of di- 
vines. 

X A child bom to the poet by a female ser- 
vant of his mother's 



80 



BURNS' WORKS. 



And now, remember, Mr Aiken, 
Nae kind of license out I'm taken ; 
Frae this time forth I do declare, 
I'se ne'er ride horse nor hizzie mair ; 
Through dirt and dub for life I'll 

paidle, '■* 
Ere 1 sae dear pay for a saddle ; 
My travel a' on foot I'll sliank'^ it, 
I've sturdy bearers, Gude be thankit. 
The kirk and you may tak you that, 
It puts but little in your pat ; 
Sae dinna put me in your buke, 
oN'or fur my ten white shillings lake. 

This list wi' my ain hand I've wrote 
it, 
The day and date as under noted ; 
Then know all ye whom it concerns, 
Siibscripsi huic, Robert Burns. 

MossGiEL, February 22, 1786. 



TO A MOUNTAIN DAISY, 

05^ TURNING ONE DOWN WITH THE 
PLOUGH IN APRIL, 1876. 

Wee, modest, crimson -tipped flower, 
Thou's met me in an evil hour ; 
For I maun crush amang the stoure' 

Thy slender stem . 
To spare thee now is past my power, 

Thou bonny gem. 

Alas ! it's no thy neibor sweet, 
The bonny lark, companion meet. 
Bending thee 'mang the dewy weet, 

Wi' speckled breast. 
When upward springing, blithe, to 
greet. 

The purpling east. 

Cauld blew the bitter biting north 
Upon thy early, humble birth ; 
Yet cheerfully thou glinted- forth 

Amid the storm, 
Scarce rear'd above the parent earth 

Thy tender form. 

The flaunting flowers our gardens yield, 
High sheltering woods and wa's maun 

shield ; 
But thou, beneath the random bield'' 

O' clod or stane, 
Adorns the liistie-* stibble-field. 

Unseen, alane. 



'4 Tramp. i& Walk. 
Dust. * Peeped. ^ Shelter. ^ Barren. 



There, in thy scanty mantle clad, 
Thy snawie bosom sun -ward spread, 
Tliou lifts thy unassuming head 

In humble guise ; 
But now the ttliare uptears thy bed. 

And low thou lies ! 

Such is the fate of artless maid. 
Sweet floweret of the rural shade ! 
By love's simplicity betray'd. 

And guileless trust, 
Till she, lil^e thee, all soil'd, is laid 

Low i' the dust. 

Such is the fate of simple bard. 

On life's rough ocean luckless starr'dl 

Unsidlf ul he to note the card 

Of prudent lore. 
Till billows rage, and gales blow hard. 

And whelm him o'er ! 

Such fate to sulTering worth is given. 
Who long with wants and woes liaa 

striven. 
By human pride or cunning driven, 

To misery's brink. 
Till wrench'd of every stay but heaven. 

He, ruin'd, sink ! 

Even thou who mourn'st the Daisy's 

fate. 
That fate is thine — no distant date ; 
Stern Ruin's ploughshare drives, elate, 

Full on thy bloom. 
Till crush'd beneath the furrow's 
weight. 

Shall be thy doom ! 



LAMENT, 

OCCASIONED BY THE UNFORTUNATE 
ISSUE OF A friend's AMOUR. 

After mentioning the appearance of " Holy 
Willie's Prayer," which alarmed the kirk-, 
session so much that they held several meet- 
ings to look over their spiritual artillery, if 
haply any of it might be pointed against 
profane rhymers, Burns stales :— " Unluck- 
ily for me, my wanderings led me on anoth- 
er side, Vv-ithin point-blank shot of their 
heaviest metal. This is the unfortunate 
stor}^ that gave rise to my printed poem, 
' The Lament.' This was a most melan- 
choly affair, which I cannot yet bear to re- 
flect on, and had very nearly given me one 
or two of the principal qualihcations for a 
place among those who have lost the charac- 
ter, and mistaken the reckoning of rational- 
ity. I had been for some days skulking from 
covert to covert, under all the terrors of a 
jail ; as some ill-advised people had uncou- 



POEMS. 



armS^ 



pled the merciless pack of the law at my 
heels. I had taken the last farewell of my 
few friends ; my chest was on the road to 
Greenock ; I had composed the last song I 
should ever measure in Caledonia, ' The 
Gloomy Night is Gathering Fast,' when a 
letter from Dr. Blacklock to a friend of mine 
overthrew all my schemes, by opening new 

firospects to my poetic ambition." 
t is scarcely necessary," Gilbert Bums 
says, " to mention that ' The Lament ' was 
composed on that unfortunate passage in 
his matrimonial history which I have men- 
tioned in my letter to Mrs. Dunlop, [allud- 
ing to his connexion with Jean Armour.] 
After the first distraction of his feelings had 
subsided, that connexion could no longer be 
concealed. Robert durst not engage with a 
family in his poor, unsettled state, but was 
an.xious to shield his partner by ever>' means 
in his power, from the consequences of 
their imprudence. It was agreed, therefore, 
between them, that they should make a 
legal acknowledgment of an irregular and 
private marriage, that he should go to Ja- 
maica to push his fortune y and that she 
should remain with her father till it might 
please Providence to put the means of sup- 
porting a family in his power." 

"Alas! how oft does goodness wound it- 
self, 
And sweet affection prove the spring of 
woe !" — Ho.ME. 

THOU pale orb, that silent sliines, 
While care-untroubled mortals sleep ! 

Tliou seest a wretch that inlv pines, 
And wanders here to wail and weep! 

With woe I nightly vigils keep 

Beneath fchy wan, unwarmiiig beam; 

And mourn, in lamentation dee]), 
How life and love are all a dream. 

1 joyless view thy rays adorn 

The faintly-marked distant hill: 
1 joyless view thy trembling horn, 

Kefiected in the gurgling rill: 
My fondly-fluttering heart, be still ! 

Thou busy power, remembrance 
cease ! 
Ah ! must the agonising thrill 

For ever bar returning peace ! 

No idly-feign'd poetic pains 

My sad, love-lorn lamentings claim ; 
No shepherd's pipe — Arcadian strains; 

No fabled tortures, quaint and tame; 
The plighted faith; the mutual flame; 

The oft-attested Powers above; 
The promised father's tender name; 

These were the pledges of my love ! 

Encircled in her clasping arms, [flown. 
How have the raptured moments 



How have I wish'd for fortune's charnal 
For her dear sake, and hers alone ! 

And must I think it ! — is she gone, 
My secret heart's exulting boast ? 

And does she heedless hear my groai;i ? 
And is she ever, ever lost ? 

Oh ! can she bear so base a heart, 

So lost to honour, lost to truth, 
As from the fondest lover part, 

The plighted husband of her youth ! 
Alas ! life's path may be unsmooth ! 

Her way may lie through rough dis- 
tress ! [soothe. 
Then who her pangs and pains will 

Her sorrows share, and make them 
less? 

Ye wmged hours that o'er us pass'd. 

Enraptured more, the more enjoy'd. 
Your dear remembrance in my breast, 

Ivly fondly-treasured thoughts em- 

ploy'd. [void. 

That b.east, how dreary now, and 

For her too scanty once of room ! 
Even every ray of hope destroy'd, 

And not a wish to gild the gloom ! 

The morn that warns th' approaching 
day. 

Awakes me np to toil and woe : 
I see the hours in long array, 

That I must suffer, lingering, slow. 
Full many a pang, and many a throe, 

Keen recollection's direful train. 
Must wring my soul, ere Phoebus, low. 

Shall kiss the distant, western main. 

And when my nightly couch I try. 

Sore iiarass'd out with care and 

grief, [eye. 

My toil-beat nerves, and tear-worn 

Keep watchings with the nightly 
thief: 
Or if I slumber, fancy, chief, [fright: 

Eeigns haggard- wild, in soar af- 
Even day, all -bitter, brings relief. 

From such a horror-breathing night. 

O thou bright queen, who o'er th' ex- 
panse, [sway ! 

Now highest reign'st with boundless 
Oft has thy silent -marking glance 

Observed us, fondly wandering strayl 
The time unheeded, sped away, [high. 

While love's luxurious pulse beat 
Beneath thy silver-gleaming ray. 

To mark' the mutual kindling ©ye. 



82 



BURXS' WORKS. 



Oh ! scenes in strong remembrance set ! 

Scenes never, never to return ! 
Scenes, if in stupor 1 forget. 

Again I feel, again I burn ! 
F;"om every joy and pleasure torn. 

Life's weary vale 1 wander through; 
And hopeless, comfortless, I'll mourn 

A faithless woman's broken vow. 



DESPONDENCY : 

AN ODE. 

A sorrow or a cross is half conquered when, by 
telUng it, some dear friend becomes, as it 
were, a sharer in it. Burns poured out his 
troubles m verse with a hke result. He 
says, " I think it is one of the greatest 
pleasures attending a poetic genius, that we 
can give our woes, cares, joys, and loves, an 
embodied form in verse, which to me is 
ever immediate ease," 

Oppeess'd with grief, oppress'd with 

care, 
A burden more than I can bear, 

I set me down and sigh: 
D life ! thou art a galling load, 
Along a rough and weary road, 

To wretches such as I ! 
Dim backward as 1 cast my view. 
What sickening scenes appear ! 
What sorrows yet may pierce me 
through. 
Too justly I may fear ! 
Still caring, despairing. 

Must be my bitter doom: 
My woes here shall close ne'er, 
But with the closing tomb ! 

Happy, ye sons of busy life, 
Who, equal to the bustling strife. 

No other view regard ! 
Even when the wisli'd end's denied, 
Yet while tlie busy means are plied, 

Tliey bring their own reward: 
Whiis't I, a hope-abandon'd wight, 

Unfitted with an aim, 
Meet every sad returning night 
And joyless morn the same; 
You, bustling, and justling, 

Forget each grief and pain; 
I, listless, yet restless, 
Find every prospect vain. 

How blest the solitary's lot, 
Who, all -forgetting, all-forgot, 

Within his humble cell, 
The cavern wild with tangling roots, 



Sits o'er his nevvly-gather'd fruits, 

Beside his crystal well ! 
Or, haply, to his evening thought, 

By unfrequented stream, 
The ways of men are distant brought, 
A faint collected dream; 
While praising, and raising 

His thoughts to heaven on high, 
As Avand'ring, meand'ring. 
He views the solemn sky. 

Than I, no lonely hermit placed 
Where never human footstep traced, 

Less fit to play the part ; 
The lucky moment to improve. 
And just to stop, and just to move, 

With self-respecting art : [joys 

But, ah ! those pleasures, loves, and 

Which I too keenly taste, 
The solitary can despise. 
Can want, and yet be blest ! 
He needs not, he heeds not. 

Or human love or uate. 
Whilst I here, must cry here 
At perfidy ingrate ! 

Oh! enviable, early days, [maze. 

When dancing thoughtless pleasure's 

To care, to guilt unknown ! 
How ill exchanged for riper times. 
To feel the follies, or the crimes. 

Of others, or my own ! 
Ye tiny elves that guiltless sport. 

Like linnets in the bush. 
Ye little know the ills ye court. 
When manhood is your \^'ish ! 
The losses, the crosses, « 

That active man engage ! 
The fears all, the tears all, 
Of dim declining age 1 



ODE TO RUIN. 

Currie says: — " It appears from internal evi- 
dence that the above lines were composed 
in 1786, when ' Hungry Ruin had him in the 
wind.' The ' dart' that 

' Cut my dearest tie. 
And quivers in my heart, 

is evidently an allusion to his separation 
from his ' bonny Jean.' Burns seems to 
have glanced into futurity with a prophetic 
eye : images of misery and woe darkened 
the distant vista : and when he looked back 
on his career he saw little to console him.— 
' I have been, this morning,' he observes, 
' taking a peep through, as Young finely 
says, " The dark postern of time long 



POEMS. 



88 



elapsed." 'Twas a rueful prospect ! What 
a tissue of thoughtlessness, weakness, and 
folly! My life reminded me of a ruined 
temp'.e. What strength, what proportion, 
m some parts ! What unsightly gaps, what 
prostrate ruin in others! I kneeled down 
before the Father of mercies and said, 
" Father, I have sinned against heaven, and 
in thy sight, and am no more worthy to be 
called thy son." I rose, eased and strength- 
ened.' " 

All liail ! inexorable lord ! 

At whose destruction breathing word 

The mightiest empires fall i 
Thy cruel, woe-delighted train, 
The mmisters of grief and pain, 

A sullen welcome, all ! 
With stern-resolved, despairing eye, 

I see each aimed dart ; 
For one has cut my dearest tie. 
And quivers in my heart. 
Then lowering and pouring, 

The storm, no more I dread-. 
Though thick'ning and black'nmg, 
Round my devoted head. 

And thou grim power, by life abhorr'd, 
Wliile life a pleasure can afford. 

Oh ! hear a wretch's prayer ! 
No more I shrink appall'd, afraid; 
1 court, I beg thy friendly aid 
To close this scene of care ! 
When shall my soul, in silent peace 

Resign life's joyless day; 
My weary heart its throbbings cease 
Cold mouldering in the clay ? 
No fear more, no tear more. 
To stain my lifeless face; 
Enclasped, and grasped 
Within thy cold embrace ! 



ADDRESS OF BEELZEBUB 

TO THE PRESIDENT OP THE HIGHLAND 
SOCIETY. 

The history of this poem is as follows :— " On 
Tuesday, May 23, there was a meetmg of 
the Highland Society at London for the en- 
couragement of the fisheries in the High- 
lands, &c. Three thousand pounds were 
immediately subscribed by eleven gentlemen 
present for this particular purp'ose. The 
Earl of Breadalbane informed the meeting 
that five hundred persons had agreed to 
emigrate from the estates of Mr. Macdonald 
of Glengarry ; that they had subscribed 
money, purchased ships, &c., to carry their 
design into effect. The noblemen and gen- 
tlemen agreed to co-operate with the Gov- 
ernment 10 frustrate their design ; and to 
recommend to the principal noblemen and 



gentlemen in the Highlands to endeavour to 
prevent emigration, by improving the fish- 
eries, agriculture, and manufactures, and 
particularly to enter into a subscription for 
that purpose." This appeared in the Edin- 
burgh Advertiser of 30th May, 1786. Re- 
membering the outcry made a few years 
ago against Highland evictions, we cannot 
help being somewhat surprised at the poet's 
indignation. Mackensie of Applecross, who 
figures in the poem, was a liberal landowner. 
Mr. Knox, in his tour of the Highlands, 
written about the same time as the Address, 
states that he had relinquished all feudal 
claims upon the labour of his tenants, paying 
them for their labour. The Address first 
appeared in the Scot's Magazine with the 
following heading:— "To the Right Hon- 
ourable the Earl of Breadalbane, President 
of the Right Honourable and Honourable 
the Highland Society, which met on the 23d 
of May last, at the Shakespeare, Covent 
Garden, to concert ways and means to frus- 
trate the designs of five hundred Highland- 
ers, who, as the Society were mformed by 

Mr. M of A s, were so audacious as 

to attempt an escape from their lawful lords 
and masters, whose property they were, by 
emigrating from the lands of Mr. Macdon- 
ald of Glengarry, to the wilds of Canada, in 
search of that fantastic thing. Liberty." 

Long life, my lord, and health be yours 
Unscaitli'd by hunger'd Highland 

boors ;^ [gar, 

Lord, grant nae duddie- desperate beg- 
Wi' dirk, claymore, or rusty trigger. 
May twin auld Scotland o' a life 
She likes — as lambkins lilve a knife. 

Faith, you and A s were right 

To keep the Highland hounds insight: 
1 doubt na ! they wad bid nae better 
Then let them ance out owre the 

water; 
Then up amang thae lakes and seas 
They'll mak what rules and laws they 

please; 
Some daring Hancock, or a Franklin, 
May set their Highland bluid a rank- 

lin'; [them. 

Some Washington again may head 
Or some Montgomery, fearless lead 

them, 
Till God knows what may be effected 
When by such heads and hearts di- 
rected — 
Poor dunghill sons of dirt and mire 
May to Patrician rights aspire ! [ville, 
Nae sage North, now, nor sager Sack- 
To watch and premier o'er the pack 

vile. 



■ Clodhoppers. 



Ragged. 



84 



BURNS^ WORKS. 



And whare will ye get Howes and 

Clintons 
To bring them to a right repentance, 
To CO we the rebel generation, 
And save the honour o' the natica V 
They and be damn'd ! what right hae 

they 
To meat or sleep, or light o' day ? 
Far less to riches, power, or freedom, 
But what your lordship lilces to gie 
them'? 

But hear, my lord ! Glengarry, hear! 
Your hand's owre light on them, I fear! 
Your factors, grieves, trustees and 

bailies, 
I canna say but they do gaylies;^ 
Then lay aside a' tender mercies. 
And tiri the liallions to the birses;*^ 
Yet while they're only poind't and 

herriet/ [spirit; 

They'll keep their stubborn Highland 
But smash them ! crash them a' to 

spalls !*^ 
And rot the dyvors'' i' the jails ! 
The young dogs, swinge^ them to the 

labour; 
Let wark and hunger mak them sober! 
The hizzies, if they're aughtlins faw- 

sont,^ 
Let them in Drury Lane be lesson'd ! 
And if the wives and dirty brats 
E'en thigger^*^ at your doors and yetts," 
Flaffan wi' duds and gray wi' beas',^"^ 
Frightin' awa' your deucks and geese, 
Get out a horsewhip or a jowler,^^ 
The langest thong, the fiercest growler, 
And gar'** the tatter'd gypsies pack 
Wi' a' their bastards on their back ! 
Go on, my lord 1 I lang to meet you. 
And in my house at hame to greet you ; 
Wi' common lords ye shanna mingle. 
The benmost neak^'' beside the ingle, i*^ 
At my right han" assign'd your seat, 
'Tween Herod's hip and Polycrate, — 
Or if you on your station tarrow," 
Between Almagro and Pizzaro, 
A seat, I'm sure ye're well deservin't; 
And till ye come — Your humble ser- 
vant, Beelzebub. 

J live ist. Anno Mt/ndL 57Q0 [a- D- 1786.] 

3 Pretty well. * And strip the clowns to the 
skin. * Sold out and despoiled. ^ Chips, 
' Bankrupts. « Whip. « The girls if they 
be at all handsome. 10 ggg. n Gates. 

12 Fluttering in rags and gray with vermin. 
»5 A dog. '** IVfake. i^The innermost 

corner. *^ Fire place. " Complain. 



A DREAAL 

The publication of " The Dream " in the Ed- 
inburgh edition ot the poems, according to 
many, did much to injure the poet v,-iili the 
dispensers of Government patronage. Mrs. 
Dunlop and others endeavoured in vain to 
prevent its publication. The irec-spoken 
and humourous verses of Burns contrast odd- 
ly with the servile ode of Warton, which 
Burns represents himself as having fallen 
asleep in reading. 

" Thoughts, words, and deeds, the statute 
blames with reason ; 
But surely dreams were ne'er indicted 
treason." 

On reading in the public papers the Laureate's 
'* Ode,"* with the other parade of June 4, 
17S6, the author was no sooner dropt asleep 
than he imagined himself transported to the 
birthday levee ; and in his dreaming fancy 
made the following Address. — Bukns. 

Guid-moenin' to your Majesty ! 

May Heaven augment your blisses, 
On every new birthday ye see, • 

A humble poet wishes I 
My hardship here, at your levee, 

On sic a day as this is. 
Is sure an uncouth sight to see, 

Among thae birthday dresses 
Sae line this day. 

I see ye're complimented thrang, - 

By many a lord and lady: 
" God save the king" 's a cuckoo sang 

That's unco easy said aye; 
The poets, too, a venal gang; 

Wi' rh}Tiies weel-turn'd and ready, 
Wad gar ye trow^ ye ne'er do wrang. 

But aye unerring steady, , 
On sic a day. 

For me, before a monarch's face, 
Even there I winna flatter; 

For neither pension, post, nor place, 
Am I vour humble debtor: 



1 Would make you believe. 

* Thbm.as Warton then filled this office. 
His ode for June 4, 1786, begins as follows : — 
" When freedom nursed her native fire 
In ancient Greece, and ruled the lyre, 
Her bards disdainful, from the tyrant's 
brow 
The tinsel gifts of flattery tore. 
But paid to guiltless power their willing 
vow, 
And to the throne of virtuous kings," 
&c. 
On these verses, the rhymes of the Ayrshire 
bard must be allowed to form an odd enough 
commentary.— CwAiui-iK-. 



POEMS. 



So nae reflection on your grace. 
Your kingsliip to bespatter; 

There's mony waur"^ been o' the race, 
And aiblins^ ane been better 
Tlian you tliis day. 

'Tis verj' true, my sovereign king, 

My skill may weel be doubted: 
Sut facts are chiels that winna ding,* 

^Vud downa' be disputed: 
Tour royal nest, beneath your vang, 

Is e'en right reft and clouted*^ 
And now the third part of the string, 

And less ^vill gang about it 
Than did ae day.f 

Far be't frae me that I aspire 

To blame your legislation. 
Or say, ye Avisdom want, or fire. 

To rule this mighty nation ! 
But, faith! 1 muckle doubt, my sire, 

Te've trusted ministration 
To chaps,'' wha, in a barn or byre, 

Wad better fill'd their station 

Than courts yon day. 

And now ye'ye glen auld Britain peace. 

Her broken shins to plaister: 
Your Kair taxation does her fleece. 

Till she has scarce a tester: 
For me, thank God, my life's a lease, 

Xae bargain wearing faster, 
Or, faith ! 1 fear that vn' the geese, 

I shortly boost^ to pasture 

I' the craft some day. 

I'm no mistrusting Willie Pitt, 

When taxes he enlarges, 
(And Will's a true guid falloVs get,:{: 

A name not envy spairges. f 
That he intends to pay your debt. 

And lessen a' your charges; 
But, God-sake ! let nae saving fit 

Abridge your bonny barges § 
And boats this dav. 



- Many worse. ^ Perhaps. '* Beat. ^ Will 
not. ^ Broken and patched, '' Fellows. 

'^ Behoved. " Bespatters. 

+ In this verse the poet alludes to the im- 
mense curtailment of the British dominion at 
the close of the American war, and the cession 
of the territory of Louisiana to Spain. 

t Gait, gett, or g^'te, a homely substitute for 
the word child in Scotland. The above stanza 
is not the only testimony of admiration which 
B irns pays to the grreat Earl of Chatham. 

§ On the supplies for tlie navy being voted, 
spring, 1786, Captain Macbride counselled 



Adieu, my liege ! may Freedom geek** 

Beneath your high protection ; 
And may yon rax'^ Corruption's neck, 

And gie her for dissection ! 
But since I'm here, I'll no neglect. 

In loyal, true affection. 
To pay your queen, with due respect, 

My fealty and subjection 

This great birthday. 

Hail, Majesty Most Excellent ! 

While nobles strive to please yjv 
Will ye accept a compliment 

A simple poet gies ye ? [len^, 

Thae bonnie bairn-time,^- Heaven haa 

Still higher may they heeze^^ ye 
In bliss, till fate some day is sent. 

For ever to release ye 

Frae care that day. 

For you, young potentate o' Wales, 

I tell your highness fairly [sails, 
Down pleasure's stream, wi' swelling 

I'm'tauld ye'rs driving rarely; 
But some day ye may gnaw your nails, 

And curse year folly sairly. 
That e'er ye brak Diana's pales. 

Or rattled dice wi' Charlie, || 
By night or day. 

Y'et aft a ragged cowte's^* been known 

To mak a noble aiver;^^ 
So, ye may doucely"' fill a throne, 

For a' their clish-ma-claver;'"' 
There, him at Agincourt*^ wha shone, 

Few better were or braver: 
And yet, wi' funny, queer Sir John,** 

He was an unco shaver^^ 

For mony a day. 

For you, right reverend Osnaburg,ff 
Nane sets the la%vn-sleeve sweeter. 

Although a ribl^on at your lug 
Wad been a dress completer: 

As ye disown yon paughty"''^ dog 
That bears the keys o' Peter, 

Then, swith ! and get a wife to hugs 

10 Lift her head, i' Stretch. 12 Children. 

'3 Raise. 1* Colt. i^ Horse. is Wisely. 

1^ Idle scandal. i^ A humourous wag. 
i» Haughty. 

some changes in that force, particularly the 
giving up of 64 -gun ships, which occasioned 3 
good deal of discussion. 

H The Right Hon. Charles James Fox. 

% King Henr>- V.— B. 

** Sir John FAsiafi—mdc Shakesr.eare.— 3 

tt Ttie Duke of York. 



BURNS' WORKS. 



Or, troutli ! ye'll stain the mitre 
Some luckless day. 

Young, royal Tarry Breeks, :{::{: I learn, 

Ye've lately come athwart her; 
A glorious galley,§§ stem and stern, 

Weel rigg'd for Venus' barter; 
But first hang out, that she '11 discern, 

Your hymeneal charter, 
Then heave aboard your grapple-airn, 

And, large upon her quarter, 
Come full that day. 

Ye, lastly, bonny blossoms a', 

Ye royal lasses dainty. 
Heaven mak you guid as weel as braw, 

And gie you lads a-plenty : 
But snee)' na British boys awa', 

For kings are unco scant aye f^ 
And German gentles are but sma', 

They're better just than want aye 
On ony day. 

God bless you a' ! consider now, 

Ye're unco muckle dautit ;-^ 
But ere the course o' life be through, 

It may be bitter sautit :^^ 
And I liae seen their coggie fu';-^ 

That yet hae tarrow't '■^^ at it ; 
But or the day was done, I trow. 

The laggen they hae clautit-^ 
Fu' clean that day. 



THE HOLY FAIR.* 

This is by far the ablest of the satires Burns 
levelled at the Church ; and his worst ene- 
mies could not avoid confessing- that it was 
as well deserved as it was clever. Scenes 
such as the poet describes had become a 
scandal and a disgrace to the Church. The 
poem was met by a storm of abuse from his 
old enemies ; but, amid all their raihngs, 
they did not fail to lay it to heart, and from 
that time forward there was a manifest im- 
provement in the bearing of ministers and 
people on such occasions. This is not 
the least of its merits in the ej^es of his 
countrj'^men of the present day. Notwith- 
standing the daring levity of some of its al- 
lusions and incidents, the poet has strictly 
confined himself to the sayings and doings 
of the assembled multitude— the sacred ri'te 
itself is never once mentioned. 

20 Always scarce. 21 Too much flattered. 
22 Salted. 23 Platter full. 24 Grumbled. 

2s They have scraped out the dish. 

tX William IV., then Duke of Clarence. 

§§ Alludiug to the newspaper account of a 
certain royal sailor's amour. 

* Holy Fair is a common phrase in the west 
of Scotland for a sacramental occasion. — B. 



" A robe of seeming truth and trust 
Hid crafty observation ; 
And secret hung, with poison'd crust, 

The dirk of Defamation : 
A mask that like the gorget show'd, 

Dye-varying on the pigeon ; 
And for a mantle, large and broad. 
He wrapt him in Religion." 

— Hypocrisy a-lci-Mode. 

Upon a simmer Sunday morn, 

When Nature's face is fair, 
I walked forth to view the com, 

And snuff the caller' air. 
The rising sun owre Galstonf muirs, 

Wi' glorious light was glintin' f 
The hares were hirplin^ down the furs,^ 

The lav'rocks they were chautin' 
Fu' sweet that day. 

As lightsomely I glower'd^ abroad. 

To see a scene sae gay. 
Three hizzies,^ early at the road. 

Cam skelpin' up the way; 
Twa had manteeles o' dolef u' black, 

But ane wi' lyart^ lining; 
The third, that gaed a- wee a-back, 

Was in the fashion shining 
Fu' gay that day. 

The twa appear'd like sisters twin, 

In feature, form, and claes; 
Their visage, wither'd, lang, and thin, 

And sour as ony slaes: 
The third cam up, hap-step-and-lowp, 

As light as ony lambie, 
And v/i' a curchie low did stoop. 

As soon as e'er she saw me, 

Fu' kind that day.. 

Wi' bonnet aff, quoth I, "Sweet lass, 

I think ye seem to ken me; 
I'm sure I've seen that bonny face. 

But yet I canua name ye." 
Quo' she, and laughin' as she spak. 

And taks me by the hands, 
"Ye, for my sake, hae gien the feck'' 

Of a' the ten commands 

A screed some day. 

' ' My name is Fun — your crony dear. 

The nearest friend ye hae; 
And this is Superstition here. 

And that's Hypocrisy. 
I'm gaun to Mauchline holy fair, 



1 Fresh. 2 Glancing. 3 Limping. •* Fur- 
rows. ^ Looked. « Wenches. "^ Gray, ^ Most 

t The adjoining parish to Mauchline. 



POEMS, 



87 



To spend an hour in cbiHa':'' 
Gin ye'll go there, yon ruuicled pair, 
We will get famous hiughin', 
At them this day." 

Quoth I, " With a' my heart, I'll do't, 

I'll get my Sunday's sark'o q^^ 
And meet you on the holy spot; 

Faith, we'se hae fine remarkin'!' 
Then I gaed hame at crowdie-time," 

And soon I made me ready; 
For roads were clad, f rae side to side, 

Wi' ciony a weary body. 

In droves that day. 

Here farmers gash,'^ {^ ridin' graitli,'^ 
Gaed lioddin'^-* by their cotters; 

There, swankies'^ young, in braw 
braid claith. 
Are springin' owre the gutters; 

The lasses, skelpin' barefit, thrang. 
In silks and scarlets glitter; 

Wi' sweet-milk cheese, in mony a 

16 



And farls,^^ baked wi' butter, 
Fu' crump that day. 

When by the plate we set our nose, 

Weel heaped up \vi' ha'pence, 
A greedy glower Black-bonnet:}: throws. 

And we maun draw our tippence. 
Then in we go to see the show. 

On very side they're gath'rin' 
iSome carrying dails,'^ some chairs and 
stools, 

And some are busy bleth'rin'^^ 
Right loud that day. 

Here stands a shed to fend the showers. 

And screen our country gentry, 
There Racer Jess,§ and twa-three 
whores, 

f 5port. " Shirt, i^ Breakfast-time. 12 Scn- 
3i::)lj. 13 Attire. ^^ Togging. ^^ Striplings. 
> ' Cut- 1^ Cakes. 1* Planks, or boards, to 
sit on. 1^ Chatting. 

X A colloquial appellation bestowed on the 
church elders or deacons, who in landward 
parishes in the olden time generally wore 
black bonnets on Sundays, when they offici- 
ated at '■ the plate " in making the usual col- 
lection for the poor. — Motherwell. 

§ The following notice of Racer Jess ap- 
peared in the newspapers of February, 1818 : — 
" Died at Mauchline a few weeks since, Janet 
Gibson, consigned to immortality by Bums in 
his ' Holy Fair," under the turf appellation of 
' Racer Jess.' She was the daughter of ' Poo- 
sie Nansie,' who figures in ' The Jolly Beg- 
gars.' She was remarkable for her pedestrian 



Are blinkin' at the entry. 
Here sits a raw of tittlin'-'^ jades, 

Wi' heaving breast and bare neck. 
And there a batch o' wabster lads, 

Blackguarding frae Kilmarnock, 
For fun this day. 

Here some are thinkin' on their sins. 

And some upo' their claes; 
Ane curses feet that fyled-' his shins, 

Anither sighs and prays: 
On this hand sits a chosen swatch, -^ 

Wi' screw'd-up grace-proud faces; 
On that a set o' chaps at watch, 

Thrang winkin' on the lasses 
To chairs that day. 

Oh, happy is that man and blest ! 

Nae wonder that it pride him ! 
Whase ane dear lass, that he likes best, 

Comes clinldn' down beside him ! 
Wi' arm-reposed on the chair back. 

He sweetly does compose him; 
Which, by degrees, slips round het 
neck, 

An's loof-2 upon her bosom, 

Unkenn'd that day. 

Xow a' the congregation o'er 

Is silent expectation: 
For Moodie|| speels"^'* the holy door, 

Wi' tidings o' damnation. 
Should Hornie, as in ancient daj^s, 

'Mang sons o' God present him. 
The very sight o' Moodie's face 

To's ain het hame had sent him 
WI' fright that day. 

Hear how he clears the points o' faith 
Wi' rattlin' and wi' thumpin' ! 

Now meekly calm, now wild in wrath, 
He's stampin' and he's jumpin' ! 

His lengthen'd chin, his turn'd-up 
snout, 

20 Whispering. 21 Soiled. 22 Sample. 
23 Hand. 24 Climbs. 

powers, and sometimes ran long distances for 
a wager." 

II Moodie was the minister of Riccarton,and 
one of the heroes of " The Twa Herds." He 
was a never-tdiling assistant at the Mauchline 
sacraments. His personal appearance and 
style of oratory were exactly such as described 
by the poet. He dwelt chiefly on the terrors 
of the law. On one occasion he told the audi- 
ence that they would find the text in John 
viii. 44, but it was so applicable to their case 
that there was no need of his reading it to 
them. The verse begins, " Ye are of your 
father the devil." 



88 



BTTRNS' WORKS. 



His eldritch -^ squeal , aud gestures, 
Oh, how tiioy fire the heart devout, 
Aiike cantharidian plasters, 
On sic a day ! 

But, hark ! the tent has changed its 
voice ! 

There 's peace and rest nae langer : 
For a' the real judges rise. 

They canna sit for anger, 
Smith"T[ Oldens out his cauld harangues 

On practice and on morals ; 
And aff the godly pour in thrangs, 

To gie the jars and barrels 
A lift that day. 

What signifies his barren shine 

Of moral powers and reason? 
His English style and gesture fine. 

Are a' clean out o' season. 
Like Socmtes or Antonine, 

Or some aukl pagan heathen. 
The moral man he does define. 

Bat ne'er a word o' faith in 

That 's right that day. 

In guid time comes an antidote . 

Against sic poison'd nostrum ; 
Forl^eebles, frae the Water-fit,** 

Ascends the holy rostrum : 
See, up he 's got the Word o' God, 

And meek and minr*^ has view'd it, 
"Wliiie Common Sense |f has taken the 
road, 

And 's aff and up the Cowgate,|:}: 
Fast, fast, that ciay. 



25 Unearthly. 



Primly. 



T Mr. (afterwards Dr.) George Smith, min- 
ister of Galston — the same whom the poet in- 
troduces, in a different feeling, under the ap- 
pellation of Irvine-side, in "The Kirk's 
Alarm." Burns meant on this occasion to 
compliment him on his rational mod^ of 
preaching, but the reverend divine regarded 
the stanza as satirical. 

=••=* The Rev. Mr. (afterwards Dr.) William 
Peebles, minister of Xewton-upon-Ayr, som^e- 
times named, from its situation, tlie M'ater-Jit^ 
and the moving hand in the prosecution of 
Dr. M'Gill,on which account he is introduced 
into " The Kirk's Alarm." He was in great 
favour at Ayr among- the orthodox pTarty, 
though much inferior in ability to the hetero- 
dox ministers of thau ancient burgh. 

ft Dr. Mackenzie, then of Mauchline, after 
wards of Irvine, had recently conducted some 
village controversy under tiie title of " Com- 
mon'Sense." Some local commentators are of 
opinion that he, and not the personified ab- 
straction- is meant. 

XX A street so called which faces the tent in 



Wee Milleri^§ neist the guard relieves, 

And orthodoxy raibles,'''' 
Thougli in his heart he weel believes 

And thinks it auld wives' fables: 
But, faith ! the birkie wants a manse, 

So, cannjly he hums tliera; 
Although his carnal wit and sense 

Like hafiiins-ways-* o'ercomes him 
At times that day. 

Now but and ben the change-house fills 

Wi' yill-caup commentators: 
Here's crying out for bakes-^ and gills. 

And there tlie pint-stoup clatters: 
While thick and'thrang, and loud and 
lang, 

Wi' logic and wi' Scripture, 
They raise a din, that, in the end. 

Is like to breed a rupture 

O' wrath that day, 

Leeze me on drink ! it gies us mair 

Than either school or college: 
It kindles wit, it waukens lair, 

It pangs'^° as fou o' knowledge, 
Be't whisky gill, or penny wheep. 

Or ony stronger potion, 
It never fails, on drinldng deep, 

To kittle^^ up our notion 

By night or day. 

The lads and lasses, blithely bent, 

To mind baith saul and body. 
Sit round the table weel content, 

And steer about the toddy. 
On this an-e's dress, and that ane's 1-euk, 

The're making observations; 
While some are cozie i' the neuk,^'-^ 

And forming assignations 

To meet some day. 

But now the Lord's ain trumpet touts, 

Till a' the hills are rarin', 
And echoes back return the shouts, 

Black Russell III is na sparin'; 



-'' Rattles. ^^ Like Hafflins-waj-s—almost. 
29 Biscuits. 30 Crams, ^i Rouse. ^2 Snug in 
the corner. 

Mauchline.— B. The same street in which 
Jean Armour lived. 

§§ The Rev. Mr. Miller, afterwards ministei 
of Kilmaurs. He was of remarkablv low 
stature, but enormous girth. Burns believed 
him at the time to lean at heart to the moder- 
ate party. This stanza, virtually the most de- 
preciatory' in the whole poem, is said to have 
retarded Miller's advancement. 

i!ii The Rev. John Russell, at this time minis 
ter of the chapel of ease, Kilmarnock, after 



rOEMS. 



89 



His piercing words, like Highland 
swords, 
Divide the joints and marrow; 
His talk o' hell, whare devils dwell; 
Our vera sauls does harrow *[[*[[ 
Wi' fright that day. 

A vast, unbottom'd, boundless pit, 

Fiird fu' o' lowin' brunstane, 
Whase ragin' flame, and scorchin' heat, 

Wad melt the hardest whunstano ! 
The half-asleep start up wi' fear, 

And think they hear it roarin'. 
When presently it does appear 

'Twas but some neibor snorin' 
Asleep that day. 

'Tvvad be owre lang a tale to tell 

How mony stories past, 
And how they crowded to the yill 

When they were a' dismist •. 
How drink gaed round, in cogs and 
caups. 

Among the forms and benches: [laps 
And cheese and bread, frae women's 

Was dealt about in lunches. 

And dauds^"^ that day. 

In comes a gaucie,^-* gash^^ guidwife, 

And sits down by the fire, [linife; 
Syne draws her kebbuck^^ and her 

The lasses they are shyer. 
The auld guidmen, about the grace, 

Frae side to side they bother. 
Till some ane by his bonnet lays, 

And gies them't like a tether, 
Fu' lang that day. 

Waesucks!^'' for him that gets nae lass. 

Or lasses that hae naething! 
Sma' need has he to say a grace. 

Or melvie^s j^^g braw claithing! 
O wives, be mindfu' ance yersel 

How bonny lads ye wanted. 
And dinna, for a kebbuck-heel,^* 

Let lasses be affronted 
On sic a day! 



33 Lumps. 34 Pat. ss gag-acious. 36 cheese. 
37 Alas. 38 Soil. 39 Cheese-crust, 
wards minister of Stirling— one of the heroes 
of "■ The Twa Herds." ''He was," says a cor- 
respondent of Cunningham's, " the most tre- 
mendous man I ever saw ; Black Huffh Mac- 
pherson was a beauty in comparison. His 
voice was like thunder, and his sentiments 
were such as must have shocked any class of 
hearers in the least more /efined than those 
whom he usually addressed." 

^? Shakespeare's " Hamlet.' — B. 



Now Clinkumbell, wV rattlin' tov/, 

Begins to jow and' croon i^'^ [dov/-*' 
Some swagger hame, the best they 

Some wait the afternoon, 
At slaps^- the billies-*^ halt a blink, 

Till lasses strip their shoon: [drink, 
Wi' faith and hope, and love and 

They're a' in famous tune 

For crack that day. 

How mony hearts this day converts 

0' sinners and o' lasses! [g'^^ne, 

Their hearts o' stane, gin night, are 

As saft as ony flesh is. 
There's some are fou o' love divine; 

There's some are fou o' brandy; 
And mony jobs that day begin 

May end in houghmagandy^ 
Some ither day. 



VERSES ON A SCOTCH BARD, 

GOXE TO THE WEST INDIES. 

The following playfully personal Imes were 
written by the poet when he thought he 
was about to leave the country in 1786 for 
Jamaica: — 

A' YE Avlia live by sowps o' drink, 
A' ye wha live by crambo-clink,^ 
A' ye wha live and never think. 

Come, mourn wi' me! 
Our billie'sgien us a' a jink,- 

And owre the sea. 

Lament him a' ye rantin' core, 
Wha dearly like a random splore,^ 
Nae mair he'll join the merry roar 

In social key; 
For now he's taken anither shore, 

And owre the sea! 

The bonny lasses weel may wiss him, 
And in their dear petitions place him; 
The ^vidows, wives, and a' may bless 
him, 

Wi' tearfu' ee; 
For weel I wat'^ they'll sairly miss him 

That's owre the sea! 
Fortune, they hae room to grumble? 



*° Sing and gro 
in fences. '*3 La 



ads. 



41 Can. 42 Breaches 
44 Fornication. 



' Versifying. 2 ^'Our friend has eluded as." 
Frolic. 4 Well I know. 



90 



BURNS' WORKS. 



Hadst tliou ta'en aff some drowsy 

bummle^ [ble/ 

Wha can do nought but fyke and fum- 

'Tvvad been nae plea; 
But he was gleg' as ony wumble,** 

That's owre the sea! 

Auld cantie Kyle may weepers wear, 
And stain them wi' the saut, saut tear; 
'Twill make her poor auld heart, I 
fear. 

In flinders^ flee; 
He was her laureate mony a year 

That's owre the sea! 

He saAv misfortune's cauld nor'-west 
Lang mustering up a bitter blast; 
A jillet'*^ brak his heart at last, 

111 may she be! 
So, took a berth afore the mast. 

And owre the sea. 

To tremble under Fortune's cummock, ' ' 
On scarce a bellyfu' o' drummock,''^ 
VVi' his proud, independent stomach 

Could ill agree; 
So, row't his hurdies^^ in a hammock, 

And owre the sea. 
He ne'er was gien to great misguiding, 
Yet coin his pouches^^ wadna bide in; 
Wi' him it ne'er was under hiding: 

He dealt it free- 
The Muse was a' that he took pride in 

That's owre the sea. 

Jamaica bodies, use him weel, 
And hap him in a cozie biel;'^ 
Ye'll find him aye a dainty cliiel,^^ 

And fu' o' glee; 
He wadna wrang the very deil. 

That's owre the sea. 

Fareweel, my rhyme-composing billie! 
Your native soil was right ill-willie; 
But may ye flourish like a lily. 

Now bonnilie! 
I'll toast ye in my hindmost gillie '' 

Though owre the sea! 



A BARD'S EPITAPH. 

Of this beautiful epitaph, which Burns wrote 
for himself, Wordsworth says^ — "Here is a 



* Bungler. ^ " Make a fuss." "^ Sharp. 
8 Wimble. » Shreds, lojilt. »' Rod. ''^Meal 
and water. '^ Wrapt his hams. i* Pockets. 
16 Warm Shelter. '^ Kindly fellow, i' My 
last gill. 



sincere and solemn avowal — a public decla- 
ration from his own will — a confession at 
once devout, poetical, and human— a history 
in the shape of a prophecy!" 

Is there a whim-inspired fool, [rule. 
Owre fast for thought, owre hot for 
Owre blate' to seek, owre i)roud to 
snool? ^ 

Let him draw near; 
And owre this grassy heap sing dool,^ 

Aiid drap a tear. 

Is there a bard of rustic song, 

Who, noteless, steals the crowds among. 

That weekly this area throng ? 

Oh, pass not by ! 
But, with a f rater-feeling strong. 

Here heave a sigh. 

Is there a man, whose judgment clear 
Can others teach the course to steer. 
Yet runs himself life's mad career 

Wild as the wave ? [tear, 
Here pause — and, through the starting 

Survey this grave. 

The poor inhabitant below 

Was quick to learn, and wise to know. 

And keenly felt the friendly glow, 

And softer flame, 
But thoughtless follies laid him low. 

And stain'd his name ! 

Reader, attend — whether thy soul 
Soars fancy's flights beyond the pole. 
Or darkling grubs this earthly hole, 

In low pursuit; 
Know, prudent, cautious self-control 

Is wisdom's root. 



A DEDICATION TO GAVIN HAM- 
ILTON, ESQ. 

Expect na, sir. in this narration, 
A fleechin',^ fleth'rin'-^ dedication, 
To roose-^ you up, and ca you guid. 
And sprung o' great and noble bluid. 
Because ye're surnamed like his Grace, 
Perhaps related to the race; 
Then when I'm tired, and sae are ye. 
Wi' mony a fulsome, sinfu' lie, 
Set up a face, how I stop short. 
For fear your modesty be hurt. 



* Bashful. 2 Be obsequious. ^ Lamenta- 
tion. 
> Flattering. ^ Fawning. ^ Praise. 



POEMS. 



91 



This may do — maun do, sir, wi' them 
Avha [wp.mefii'-^ 

Maun please the great folks for a 
For me ! sae laigli\ 1 needna bow. 
For, Lord be thankit, 1 can plough ; 
And when I downa'^ yoke a naig, 
Then, Lord be thankit, 1 can beg; 
Sae I shall say, and that's nae tiatterin'. 
Its just sic poet, and sic patron. 

The poet, some guid angel help liim, 
Or else, I fear, some ill ane skelp" him. 
He may do weel for a' he's done yet, 
But only — he's no just began yet. 

The patron, (sir, ye maun forgie me, 
I winna lie, come what will o' me,) 
On every hand it will allow'd be. 
He's just — nae better than he should be. 

1 readily and freely grant. 
He downa see a poor man want; 
What's no his ain he winna tak it, 
"Wliat ance he says he winna break it; 
Ought he can lend he'll no refus't. 
Till aft his guidness is abused, 
And rascals whyles that do him wrang, 
Even that he doesna mind it lang- 
As master, landlord, husband, father, 
He doesna fail his part in either. 

But then nae thanks to him for a' that; 
Nae godly symptom ye can ca' that; 
It's naething but a milder feature 
0£ our poor sinfu', corrupt nature: 
Ye'U get the best o' moral works, 
'Mang black Gentoos and pagan Turks, 
Or hunters wdld on Ponotaxi, 
Wha never heard of orthodoxy. 
That he's the poor main's friend in need, 
The gentleman in word and deed. 
It's no through terror of damnation; 
It's just a carnal inclination. 

Morality thou deadly bane, 
Thy tens o' thousands thou hast slain ! 
Vain is his hope whose stay and trust is 
In moral mercy, truth, and justice ! 

No — stretch a point to catch a plack;^ 
Abuse a brother to his back: 
Steal through a winnock^ f rae a whore. 
But point the rake that taks the door. 
Be to the poor like ony whunstane, 

4 Bellyful. 5 Low. « Cannot. '' Beat, a a 
Coin- third part of a penny. ^ Window^ 



And haud their noses to the grunstane. 
Ply every art o' legal thieving; 
No matter, stick to sound believing. 

Learn three-mile prayers, and half- 
mile graces, [faces; 
Wi' weel-spread looves,'" and langwr}' 
Grant up a solemn, lengthen'd groan. 
And damn a' parties but your own; 
I'll warrant then, ye're nae deceiver — • 
A steady, sturdy, stanch believer. 

ye wha leave the springs o' Calvin, 
For gumlie^i dubs of your ain delvin'! 
Ye sons of heresy and error, 

1 e'll some day squeel in quaking terror! 
When Vengeance draws the sword in 

wrath. 
And in the fire throws the sheath; 
When Ruin, with his sweeping besom, 
Just frets till Heaven commission gies 

him; [moans, 

While o'er the harp pale INIisery 
And strikes the ever-deepening tones. 
Still louder shrieks, and heavier groans:' 

Your pardon, sir, for this digression, 
I maist forgat my Dedication; 
But when di\dnity comes 'cross me. 
I\ly readers still are sure to lose me. 

So, sir, ye see 'twas nae daft vapour, 
But I maturely thought it proper 
When a' my works I did review. 
To dedicate them, sir, to you: 
Because (ye needna tak it ill) 
I thought them something like yoursel 
Then patronise them wi' your favour. 

And your petitioner shall ever 

I had amaist said, ever 'pray; 
But that's a word I needna say: 
For prayin' I hae little skill o't; 
I'm baith dead-sweer,i"- and wretched 

ill o't; 
But I'se repeat each poor man's prayer 
That kens or hears about you, sir — 

• ' Mav ne'er Misfortune's growling 
bark [Clerk!* 

Howl through the dwelling o' the 
May ne'er his generous, honest heart 
For that same generous spirit smart ! 

"Palms. 11 Muddy. 12 Unwilling-. 

*A term applied to Mr. Hamilton from his 
having- acted in that capacity to some of the 
county courts. 



93 



BURNS' WORKS. 



May Kennedy's far lionour'd name 
Lang beat his hymeneal tiame 
Till Ilamihons, at least a dizen, 
Are frae their nuptial labours risen : 
Five bonny lasses round their table, 
And seven braw fellows stout and able 
To serve their king and country weel, 
By word, or pen, or pointed steel ! 
May health and peace, with mutual 

rays. 
Shine on the evening o' his days ; 
Till his wee curlie John'sf ier-oe,'^ 
Wlien ebbing life nae mair shall flow, 
The last, sad, mournful rites bestow !" 

I will not wind a lang conclusion 
Wi' complimentary effusion : 
But whilst your wishes and endeavours 
Are blest wi' Fortune's smiles and 

favours, 
I am, dear sir, with zeal most fervent, 
Your much indebted, humble servant. 

But if (which PoAvers above prevent !) 
That iron-hearted carl. Want, 
Attended in his grim advances, 
By sad mistakes and black mischances. 
While hopes, and joys, and pleasures 

fly him, 
Make you as poor a dog as I am. 
Your humble servant then no more ; 
For who would humbly serve. the poor ? 
But by a poor man's hopes in Heaven ! 
While recollection's power is given. 
If, in the vale of humble life. 
The victim sad of Fortune's strife, 
1, through th>i tender gushing tear. 
Should recognize my master dear. 
If friendless, low, we meet together, 
Then, sir, your hand — my friend and 
brother ! 



INVITATION TO A MEDICAL 
GENTLEMAN 

TO ATTEND A MASONIC ANNIVERSAKY 
MEETING. 

Friday first 's the day appointed. 
By our Right Worshipful anointed, 

To hold our grand procession , 
To get a blade of Johnny's morals. 



13 Great-grandchild, 
t John Hamilton, Esq., a worthy scion of a 
noble stock. 



And taste a swatch ' o' Manson's ba . 
rels, 
r the way of our profession. 
Our Master and the Brotherhood 

Wad a' be glad to see you ; 
For me I w^ouid bo mair than proud 
To share the mercies wi' you. 
If death, then, wi' skaith, then, 

Some mortal heart is hechtin'^ 
Inform him , and storm him, 
That Saturday ye '11 fechthim. 

Robert Burns. 



THE FAREWELL. 

" The following touching stanzas," says Cun- 
ningham, "were composed in the autumn of 
1786, when the prospects of the poet darken- 
ed, and he looked towards the West Indies 
as a place of refuge, and perhaps of hope. 
All who shared his affections are mentioned 
— his mother — his brother Gilbert— his ille- 
gitimate child, Elizabeth,— whom he con- 
signed to his brother's care, and for whose 
support he had appropriated the copyright 
of his poems,— and his friends Smith, Hamil- 
ton, and Aiken; but in nothing he ever 
wrote was his affection for Jean Armour 
more tenderly or more naturally displayed." 

" The valiant in himself, what can he suffer? 
Or what does he regard his single woes? 
But. when, alas! he multiplies himself, 
Todeaier selves, to the loved tender fair. 
To those whose bliss,whose being hang upon 

him. 
To helploss children! then, oh, then! he feels 
The point of misery festering in his heart. 
And weakly weeps his fortune like a coward. 
Such, such am I! — undone!"- 

— Thomson's Edward and Elcanora. 

Farewell, old Scotia's bleak do- 
mains. 
Far dearer than tlie torrid plains 

Where rich ananas blow ! 
Farewell, a mother's blessing dear ! 
A brother's sigh ! a sister's tear ! 
My Jean's heart-rending throe ! 
FarewTll, my Bess ! though thou 'rt 
bereft 
Of my parental care ; 
A faithful brother I have left, 
My part in him thou 'It share ! 
Adieu too, to you too, 

My Smith, my bosom frien' ; 
W^lien kindly you mind me, 

Oh, then befriend mv Jean ! 



Sample ^ Threatening. 



Fight. 



POEM?!. 



93 



\Miat bursting anguish tears my 

heart ! 
From thee, my Jeanie, must I part ! 
Thou, weeping, answerest, ' ' No I" 
Alas ! misfortune stares my face, 
And points to ruin and disgrace, 

I, for thy sake must go ! 
Thee, Hamilton and Aiken dear, 

A grateful, warm, adieu ! 
1, with a much-indebted tear. 
Shall still remember you ! 
All hail, then, the gale then, 

Wafts me from thee, dear shore! 
It rustles and whistles — 
I'll never see thee more ! 



/ 



LINES WRITTEN ON A BANK- 
NOTE. 
Wae worth thy power, thou cursed 

leaf ! 
Fell source o' a' my woe and grief ! 
For lack o' thee I've lost my lass ! 
For lack o' thee I scrimp my glass. 
I see the children of affliction 
Unaided, through thy cursed restric- 
tion. 
I've seen the oppressor's cruel smile. 
Amid his hapless victim's spoil. 
And, for thy potence vainly wish'd 
To crush the villain in the dust. 
For lack o' thee, I leave this much- 

loved shore. 
Never, perhaps, to greet auld Scotland 
more. 

R. B.— Kyle. 



VERSES TO AN OLD SWEET- 
HEART AFTER HER MARRIAGE. 

WRITT&N OX THE BLANK LEAF OF A 

COPY OF HIS POEMS PRESENTED 

TO THE LADY. 

Once fondly loved, and still remem- 
bered dear, [vows! 
Sweet early object of my youthful 
A.ccept this mark of friendship, warm 
sincere, — [allows. 
Friendship ! 'tis all cold duty now 

And when you read the simple, artless 

rhymes, [more, — 

One friendly sigh for him — he asks no 

Who distant burns in fiaming torrid 

climes, [roar. 

Or haply lies beneath th' Atlantic's 



VERSES WRITTEN UNDER 

VIOLENT GRIEF. 

The following lines, which first appeared ia 
the Su7i newspaper, April 1823, appear id 
have Deca otiginally written on a leal of a 
copy 01 his poems pi esented to a friend:— 

Accept the gift a friend sincere 
W^ad on thy worth be pressin'; 
Remembrance oft may start a tear, 
But oh ! that tenderness forbear. 
Though 'twad my sorrows lessen. 

My morning raise sae clear and fair, 

I thought sair storms wad never 
Bedew the scene; but grief and care 
In wildest fury liae made bare 
My peace, my hope, for ever ! 

You think I'm glad; oh, I pay weel 

For a' the joy I borrow, 
In solitude — then, then I feel 
I canna to myself conceal 

My deeply-ranklin' sorrow. 

Farewell ! within thy bosom free 

A sigh may whiles awaken ; 
A tear may wet thy laughin' ee. 
For Scotia's son — ance gay like thee 
Now hopeless, comfortless, forsaken! 



THE CALF. 

TO THE REV. MR. JAMES STEVEN. 
The Rev. James Steven was afterwards one 
of the Scottish clergy in London, and ulti- 
mately minister of Kilwinning in Ayrshire, 
It appears that the poet,while proceeding 10 
church at Mauchline, one day, called on his 
friend Mr. Gavin Hamilton, who, being un- 
well, could not accompany him, but desired 
him, as parents were wont to do with chil- 
dren, to' bring home a note of the text. 
Burns called on his return, and sitting down 
for a minute at Mr. Hamilton's business ta- 
ble, wrote the following lines as an answer 
to his request. It is also said that the poet 
had a wager with his friend Hamilton, that 
he would produce a poem within acertun 
time, and that he gained it by producing 
^' The Calf." 

On his text, Malachi iv. 2— "And they shall 
go forth, and grow up like calves of the stall.'' 

Right, sir ! your text I'll prove it true. 
Though heretics may laugh; 

For instance; there's yoursel just now^ 
God knows, an unco calf ! 



94 



BURNS' WORKS. 



And should ^ome patron be so kind 

As bless you wi' a kirk, 
I doubt nu, sir, but then we'll find 

Ye're still as great a stirk. ' 

But if the lover's raptured hour 

Shall ever be your lot, 
Forbid it, every heavenly power, 

You e'er should be a stot- !^ 

Though, when some kind connubial 
. dear 

Your but-and-ben^ adorns. 
The like has been that you may wear 

A noble head of horns. 

And in your lug, most reverend James, 
To hear you roar and rowte,"* 

Few men o' sense will doubt your 
claims 
To rank amang the nowte. ^ 

And when ye're number'd wi' the dead, 

Below a grassy hillock, 
Wi' j ustice they may mark your head, 

" Here lies a famous bullock !" 



WILLIE CHALMERS. 

Mr. W. Chalmers, a gentleman in Ayrshire, 
a particular friend of mine, asked me to 
write a poetic epistle to a young lady, his 
dulcinea. I had seen her, but was scarcely 
acquamted with her, and wrote as follows : 
— R.B. 

Madam: 
Wi' braw new branks,' in mickle pride, 

And eke- a braw new brechan,^ 
My Pegasus I'm got astride, 

And up Parnassus pechin;^ [crush. 
Whiles owre a bush, wi' downward 

The doited beastie^ stammers; 
Then up he gets, and off he sets. 

For sake o' Willie Chalmers. 

I doubt na, lass, that weel-kenn'd name 

May cost a pair o' blushes; 
1 am nae stranger to your fame. 

Nor his warm-urged wishes. 
Y'our bonny fa^, sae mild and sweet, 
His honest heart enamours. 
And faith ye'll no be lost a v/hit, 

Thouffh waired** on Willie Chalniers: 



1 A one-year-old-bullock. - Ox, ^ Kitchen 
and parlour. * Bellow. * Cattle. 

'- Bridle. 2 Also. s Collar. * Panting. 
^Stupid animal. *Spent. 



Auld Truth hersel might swear ye're 
fair, — 

And Honour safely back her, 
And Modesty assume your air. 

And ne'er a ane mistak' her: 
And sic twa love-inspiring een 

Might fire even holy palmers; 
Nae wonder then they've fatal been 

To honest Willie Chalmers. 

I doubt na Fortune m.ay you shore'' [tie, 

Some mim-mou'd^ pouthei'd'-" pries- 
Fu' lifted up wi' Hebrew lore. 

And band upon Jiis breastie : 
But oh ! what signifies to you 

His lexicons and grammars. 
The feeling heart's the royal blue, 

And that's wi' Willie Chalmers. 

Some gapin', glowrin'<^ country laird 

May warsale'* for your favour; 
May claw his lug^'^ and straik'^ his 
beard. 

And lioast'^ up some palaver, 
My bonny maid, before ye wed 

Sic clumsy- witted hammers, '^ 
Seek Heaven for help, and barefit 
skelpis 

Awa' wi' Willie Chalmers. 

Forgive the bard I my fond regard 

For ane that shares my bosom 
Inspires my muse to gie 'm his dues, 

For deil a hair I roose^^ him. 
May powers aboon unite you soon, 

And fructify your amours, — 
And every year come in mair dear 

To you and Willie Chalmers." 



TAM SAMSON'S ELEGY.* 

" No poet,"' says Cunningham, " ever embla- 
zoned fact with fiction more happily than 
Burns : the hero of this poem was a respect- 
able old nursery-seedsman in Kilmarnock 
greatly addicted to sporting, and one of the 
poet's earliest friends, who loved curling < n 
the ice in winter, and shooting on the 
moors in the season. When no longer able 
to march over hill and hag in quest of 
' Paitricks, teals, moor-pouts, and plivers,' 



■^ Promise. ^ Prim. ^ Powdered, i" Staring. 
11 Strive. 12 £ar, i3 Stroke. i' Cougn. 
1= Blockheads, i* Run. 1^ Flatter. 

* When this worthy old sportsman went 
out last muirfowl season, he supposed it was 
to be. in Ossian's phrase, " the last of his 
fields; and expressed an ardent wish 10 die 
and be buried in the muirs. On this hint the 
author composed his elegy and epitaph.— B. 



POEMS, 



m 



he lovcJ t -1 V.2 on the lang settle, and listen 

to the a. J of others on field and flood; 

and when ii good tale was told, he would 
cry, ' Hech, man! three at a shot; that was 
famous!' Some one having informed Tam, 
in his old age, that Burns had written a poem 
— 'a gay queer ane ' — concerning him, he 
sent for the bard, and, in something like 
wrath, requested to hear it: he smiled grim- 
ly at the relation of his exploits, and then 
cried out, 'I'm no dead yet, Robin — I'm 
worth ten dead fowk: wherefore should ye 
say that I am dead?' Burns took the hint, 
retired to the window for a minute or so, 
and coming back, recited the ' per Contra,' 

' Go, Fame, and canter like a filly,' 

with which Tam was so delighted that he 
rose unconsciously, rubbed his hands, and 
exclaimed, ' That'l do— ha! ha!— that'l do!' 
He survived the poet, and the epitaph is in- 
scribed on his gravestone in the churchj^ard 
of Kilmarnock." 

" An honest man's the noblest work of God." 

—Pope. 

Has auld Kilmarnock seen the deil? 
Or great Mackinlayf tlirawn^ liis lieel? 
Or Robinson:}: again grown weel. 

To preach and read? 
" Na, waur than a'!" cries ilka chiel, 

" Tam Samson's dead!" 

Kilmarnock lang may grunt and grane. 

And sigh, and sob, and greet"^ her 

lane, [wean 

And cleed^ her bairns, man, -wife, and 

In mourning weed; 
To Death, she's dearly paid tlie kane^ — 

Tam Samson's dead! - 

The brethren o' the mystic level 
May hing their head in waefu' bevel, 
While by their nose the tears will re- 
vel, 

Like ony bead ; 
Death's gien the lodge an unco deveP — 
Tam Samson's dead! 

\Mien Winter muffles up his cloak. 
And binds the mire up like a rock; 



^ Twisted. 2 Q^^-y 3 Clothe. * Rent paid 
in kind. ^ Blow. 

+ A certain preacher, a great favourite with 
the million. V/de '' The Ordination," stanza 
II.—B. 

:J: Another preacher, an equal favourite with 
the few, who Avas at that time ailing. For 
him, see also "The Ordination," stanza IX.— 
B. 



When to the lochs the curlers flock. 

Wi' gleesome speed, 
Wha ^vill they station at the cock?— 

Tam Samson's dead! 

He was the king o' a' the core, 
To guard, or draw, or wick abcie; 
Or up the rink like Jehu roar 

In time o' need; rscore,— 
But now he lags on Death's h"^>j. 

Tam Samson's dead! 

Now safe the stately salmon sail , 
And trouts be-dropp'd wi' crimson hrll, 
And eels weel kenn'd for souple tail. 

And geds'5 for greed, 
Since dark in Death's fish-creel we^vail 

Tam Samson's deadl 

Rejoice, ye birring paitricks'' a'; 

Ye cootie* moorcocks, crousely'' craw; 

Ye maukins, ^^' cock your f ud f u' braw, 

Withouten dread ; 
Your mortal f ae is now a wa, ' — 

Tam Samson's deadl 

That v'aefu' morn be ever mourn'd 
Saw him in shootin' graith'^ adorn' 1 
While pointers round impatient burii'd, 

Frae couples freed; 
But, och! he gaed and ne'er return'di 

Tam Samson's dead! 

In vain auld age his body batters; 
In vain the gout his ankles fetters; 
In vain the burns cam' down like v^a- 
ters, 

An acre braid! 
Now every auld wife, greetin' clattsi'^, 

Tam Samson's dead ! 

Owre mony a weary hag^'^ he limpit. 
And aye the tither shot he thumpit/^ 
Till coward Death behind him jumpit, 

Wi' deadly feide;!^ 
Xov^^ hj proclaims, wi' tout'^ o' trumpei, 

Tam Samson's dead! 

When at his heart he felt the dagger. 
He reel'd his wonted bottle-swagger. 
But yet he drew the mortal trigger 

Wi' weel-aim'd heed; 
" Lord, five!" he cried, and owre di:l 
stagger — 

Tam Samson's dead! 



"Pikes. ■^ Whirring partridges ** Feath.r- 
legged. 9 Gleefully.' J" Hares. ''Dress. 
1- Moss, 13 Fired, i^ pend. ^= Sound. 



0( 



RNS' Vv^0RKF5. 



Ilk hoary hunter mourn'd a brither; 
Ilk sportsman youth bemoan'd a father: 
Yon auld gray stane, amang the hea- 
ther, 

Marks out his head, 
Whare Burns has wrote, in rhjTning 
blether, 

Tarn Samson's dead! 
There low he lies, in lasting rest; 
Perhaps upon his mouldering breast 
yome spitfu' moorfowl bigs her nest. 

To hatch and breed ; 
Alas ! nae mair he'll them molest ! 
Tam Samson's dead ! 

When august winds the heather wave, 
And sportsmen wander by yon grave. 
Three volleys let his memory crave 

O' pouthor and lead, 
Till Echo answer frae her cave — 

Tam Samson's dead ! 

Heaven rest his saul, whar'er he be ! 
Is the \\ish o' mony mae than me; 
He had twa fauts, or maybe three, 

Yet wliat reniead ? 
Ae social honest man want we — 

Tam Samson's dead ! 

EPITAPH. 

Tam Samson's weel-worn clay here lies 
Ye canting zealots, spare him ! 

If honest worth in heaven rise, 
Ye'll mend or ye win near him, 

PER CONTRA. 

Go, Fame, and canter like a filly, 
Through a' the streets and neuks o' 

Killie,§ 
Tell every social, honest billie 

To cease his grievin', 
For yet, unscaithed''* by Death's gleg 
gullie,^'' 

Tam Samson's leevin' ! 



A PRAYER, 

LEFT BY THE AUTHOR AT A REVER- 
END friend's house, in THE 
ROOM WHERE HE SLEPT. 

Thou dread Power, who reign'st 
above ! 



J" Unharmed. ^^ Sharp knife. 

§ Kilhe is a phrase the country-folks some- 
times use for the name of a certain town in 
the west [Kilmarnock. J — B. 



I know Thou wilt me hear. 
When for this scene! of peace and love 
I make my prayer sincere. 

The hoary sire — the mortal stroke. 
Long, long, be pleased to spare ! 

To bless his filial little flock. 
And show what good men are. 

She, who her lovely offspring eyes 
With tender liopes and fears, 

Oh, bless her with a mother's joj^s, 
But spare a mother's tears ! 

Their hope — their stay — their darling 
youth, 
In manhood's dawning blush — 
Bless him, Thou God of love and 
truth, 
Up to a parent's wish ! 

The beauteous seraph sister-band, 
With earnest tears I pray, [hand — 

Thou know'st the snares on every 
Guide Thou their steps alway ! 

When soon or late they reach that 
coast, 

O'er life's rough ocean driven, 
May they rejoice, no wanderer lost, 

A family in heaven ! 



THE BRIGS OF AYR. 

INSCRIBED TO JOHN BAULANTYNE, 
ESQ., AYR. 

In the autumn of 1786, a new bridge was be- 
gun to be erected over the river at Ayr. in 
order to supersede an old structure which 
had long been found unsuitable, and was 
then becoming dangerous ; and while the 
work was being proceeded with, under the 
chief magistracy of Mr. Ballantyne, the 
poet's generous patron, he seized the oppor- 
tunity to display his gratitude by inscribing 
the poem to him. The idea of the poem ap- 
pears to have been taken from Fergusson's 
" Dialogue between the Plainstanes and the 
Causeway ;" the treatment of the subject is, 
however, immeasurably superior to the oid- 
ec piece, and peculiarly Burns' own. 

The simple bard, rough at the rustic 
plongh, [bough ; 

Learning his tuneful trade from every 
The chanting linnet, or the mellow 
thrush, [green-thorn bush ; 

Hailing the setting sun, sweet, in the 
The soaring lark, the perching red- 
breast shrill, 



POEMS. 



87 



Or deep-toned plovers, gray, ^vlld- 
wliistling o'er the liiil ; [shed, 

Shall he, nurst in the peasant's lowly 
To hardy independence bravely bred, 
By early poverty to hardship steel'd. 
And train'd to arms in stern Misfor- 
tune's field — [crime:;, 

Shall he be guilty of their hireling 
The servile, mercenary Swiss of 

rhymes ? 
Or labour hard the panegyric close. 
With all the venal soul of dedicating 
prose ? [rudely sings, 

No ! though his artless strains ho 
And throws his hand uncouthly o'er 
the strings, [bard. 

He glows with all the spirit of the 
Fame, honest fame, his great, his dear 
reward ! [he trace, 

Still, if some patron's generous care 
Skill'd in the secret, to bestow with 
grace ; [ble name, 

When Ballantyne befriends his lium- 
And hands the rustic stranger up to 
fame, [bosom swells, 

With heart-felt throes his grateful 
The god-like bliss, to give, alone ex- 
cels. 

'Twas when the stacks get on their 

winter-hap,^ [won crap ; 

And thack - and rape secure the toil- 

Potato-bings ^ are snugged up f rae 

skaith -^ [breath ; 

O' coming Winter's biting, frosty 
The bees, rejoicing o'er their summer 

toils, [cious spoils 

Unnumber'd buds and flowers' deli- 
Seal'd up with frugal care in massive 

waxen piles, [the weak. 

Are doom'd by man, that tyrant o'er 
The death o' devils, smoor'd ^ wi' brim- 
stone reek : [every side, 
The thundering guns are heard on 
The wounded coveys, reeling, scatter 

wide • [Nature's tie. 

The feather'd field-mates, bound by 
Sires, mothers, children, in one carnage 

lie [l)leeds, 

(What warm, poetic heart, but inly 
And execrates man's savage, ruthless 

deeds !) 



^Coverins:. ^ Thatch. ^ Heaps. •* Harm. 
" Smothered. 



Nae mair the flower in field or meadow 
^ springs, [rings, 

Nae mair the grove with airy concert 
Except, perhaps, the robin's whistling 
gJee, [tree: 

Proud o' the height o' some bit half -lang 
The hoary morns precede the sunny 
days, [noontide bla-^e, 

Mild, calm, serene, wide spreads tiio 
While thicK the gossamer waves wan- 
ton in the rays, 

'Twas in that season, when a simple 

bard, [ward. 

Unknown and poor, simplicity's re- 

Ae night, within the ancient brugh of 

Ayr, [care. 

By whim inspired, or haply prest wi' 
He left his bed and took his wayward 

route, [left about: 

And down by Simpson's* wheel'd the 
(\Vhether impell'd by all-directing 

Fate, 
To witness what I after shall narrate; 
Or penitential pangs for former sins. 
Led him to rove by quondam Merran 

Dins; 
Or whether, rapt in meditation high, 
He wander'd out, he knew not where 

nor why) [ber'd two. 

The drowsy Dungeon clockf had num- 
And Wallace TowerJ had sworn the 

fact was true: [ing roar. 

The tide-swoln Firth, wi' sullen sound- 
Through the still night dash'd hoarse 

along the shore. [ee: 

All else was hush'd as Nature's closed 
The silent moon shone high o'er tower 

and tree: [beam. 

The chilly frost, beneath the silver 
Crept, gently-crusting, o'er the glitter- 
ing stream. 

When, lo! on either hand the listening 
bard, [heard ; 

The clanging sugh of whistling wings is 

Two dusky forms dart through tli^ 
midnight air [ing hare; 

Swift as the gos§ drives on the wheel- 



* A noted tavern at the Auld Brig- end. — B. 

t A clock in a steeple connected with the 
old jail of Ayr. 

t "The clock in the Wallace Tower— an 
anomalous piece of antique masonry, sur- 
mounted by a spire, which formerly stood ia 
the High street of Ayr. 

§ The goshawk, or falcon. — B. 



BURNS' woiik; 



Ane on the Auld.Brig his airy shapes 

uprears, 
Tlie ither flutters o'er the rising piers- 
Our warlock rhymer instantly desci-ied 
'i'iie sprites that ovvre the Brigs of Ayr 
preside. (jO'^e, 

(That bards are second-sighted is nae 
And ken the lingo of the spiritual folk; 
lays, spunkies, kelpies, a', they can 
explain them, [ken*^ tliem.) 

And even the very deils they brawly 
Auld Brig appear'd o' ancient Pictish 

race, 
The very wrinkles Gothic In his face* 
He seeni'd as he wi' Time had wars- 
tied lang, [bang^ 
Yet, teughly doure,'' he bade an unco 
New Brig Was buskit in a braw new 

coat, 
That he at Lon'on frae ane Adams got; 
In's hand five taper staves as smooth's 

a bead, 
Wi' virls and whirlygigum.s at the head. 
The Goth was stalking round with anx- 
ious search, [arch; — ■ 
Spying the time-worn flaws in every 
It chanced his new-come neibor took 
his ee, [he ! 
And e'en a vex'd and angry heart had 
Wi' thieveless^ sneer to see his modish 
mien, [e'en : — 
He, down the water, gies him this guid 

AULD BRIG. 

I doubt nafrien', ye'll think ye're nae 
sheep-shank, ^° [to bank ! 

Auce ye were streekit" owre frae bank 
But gin ye be a brig as auld as me — 
Though, faith, that date I doubt ye'll 
never see — [a boddie,^'^ 

There'll be, if that date come, I'll wad 
Some fewer whigmaleeries in your nod- 
dle. 

NEW BRIG, 

Auld Vandal, ye but show your little 

mense,^^ [sense; 

Just much about it, wi' your scanty 

Will your poor narrow footpath of a 

street — [when they meet — 

Where twa wheelbarrows tremble 



6 Well know. ' Toughly obdurate. « He 
endured a mighty blow. ® Spited. "> No 
worthless thing, n Stretched, 12 ggt a 
doit. ^2 Civility, 



Your ruin'd, formless bulk o' stane and 
lime, [time ! 

Compare wi' bonny brigs o' modern 
There's men o' taste would tak the 
Ducat Stream, il [and swim, 

Though, they should cast the jery sark 
Ere they would grate their feelings wi' 

the view 
O' sic an ugly Gothic liuUi as you. 

AULD BRIG. 

Conceited gowk !'•* puff'd up wi' 
windy pride! [and tide; 

This mony a year I've stood the flood 
And though wi' crazy eild''' I'm sair 
forfairn,''' [cai-ii ! 

I'll be a brig when ye're a shapeless 
As yet ye little ken about the matter. 
But twa-three winters will inform ye 
better, [rains. 

When heavy, dark, continued, a'-day 
Wi' deepening deluge, o'erflow the 
plains, [brawling Coil, 

When from the hills jvhere springs the 
Or stately Lugar's mossy fountains boil. 
Or where the Greenock winds his moor- 
land course, [source, 
Or haunted Garpal*^ draws his feeble 
Aroused by blustering winds and spot- 
ting thowes, [rowes; 
In mony a torrent down his snaw-broo 
While crashing ice, borne on the roar- 
ing spate," [the gate ;'^ 
Sweeps dams, and mills, and brigs a' to 
And from Glenbuck,** down to the 
Ratton-key.ff [li^g sea — 
Auld Ayr is just one lengthen'd tumb- 
Tlien down ye'll hurl, deil nor ye never 
rise ! [pouring skies. 
And dash the gumlie jaups''^ up to the 
A lesson sadly teaching, to your cost, 
That Architectuie's noble art is lost 1 



34 Fool. "Age. »' Enfeebled, i' Flood. 
18 Way. 1^ Muddy spray. 

II A noted ford, just above the Auld Brig. — 
B, 

* The Banks of Garpa: Water— one of the 
i ' places in the West of Scotland wheie 
tL^se fancy-scaring bein^rs known by the 
name of ghaists still continue pertinaciously 
to inhabit.— B. 

** The source of the river Ayr.— B. 

tt A small landing-place above the large 
key._B. 



POEMS. 



99 



NEW BHIG. 

Fine Arcliitecture, tro^vtli, I needs 

must say o't, [tlie gate o't! 

The Lord be tliankit tliat we've thit-'^ 

Gaunt, ghastly, ghaist-alhiring edifices. 

Hanging witli threatening jut, like 

precipices; [coves, 

O'erarcliing, mouldy, gloom-inspiring 
Supporting roofs fantastic, stony 

groves; [ture drest, 

Windows and doors, in nameless sculp- 
With order, symmetry, or taste unblest; 
Forms lilve some bedlam statuary's 

dream, [whim ; 

The crazed creations of misguided 
Forms might be worship'd on the ben- 
ded knee, . [free, 
And still the second dread command be 
Their lilveness is not found on earth, in 

air, or sea. [building taste 

Mansions that would disgrace the 
Of any mason reptile, bird, or beast; 
Fit only for a doited-^ monldsh race, 
Or frosty maids forsworn the dear 

embrace . [notion 

Or cuifs--' of later times wha held the 
That sullen gloom was sterling true 

devotion ; 
Fancies that our guid brugh denies 

protection ! [with resurrection ! 

And soon may they expire, unblest 

Ain.D BRIG. 

O ye, my dear-remember'd ancient 
yealings,'^^ [ed feehngs ! 

Were ye but here to share mj wound- 
Ye worthy proveses, andmony a bailie, 
Wha in the paths o' righteousness did 
toil aye , [veeners, 

Ye dainty deacons, and ye douce con- 
To whom our moderns are but causey- 
cleaners ! [town ; 
Ye godly councils wha hae blest this 
le godly brethren o' the sacred gown, 
Wha meekly gae your hurdles to the 
smiters ; [godly v.riters ; 
And (what would now be strange) ye 
A' ye douce folk I've borne aboon the 
broo,--^ [or do ' 
Were ye but here, what would ye say 
How would your spirits groan in deep 
vexation 



"0 Lost. 
*^ Water. 



Stupid. 22|rooig. 23 Coevals. 



To see each melancholy alteration ; 
And, agonizing, curse the time and 
place [race ! 

When ye begat the base, degenerate 
Nae langer reverend men, their coun- 
try's glory, [braid story 1 
In plain braid Scots hold forth a plain 
Nae langer thrifty citizens and douce. 
Meet owre a pint, or in the council- 
house ; [less gentry, 
But staumrel,''^°corkey-headed, grace- 
Tlie herryment and ruin of the coun- 
try ; [by barbers, 
Men three parts made by tailors ancl 
Wha waste your weel-hain'd gear on 
damn'd new brigs and harbours ! 

NEW BRIG. 

Now hand you there ! for faith ye Ve 
said enough, [through ; 

And muckle mair than ye can mak to 
That 's aye a string auld doited gray- 
beards harp on, [on. 
A topic for their peevishness to carp 
As for your priesthood, I shall sav but 
little* '[tie ; 
Corbies and clergy are a shot right kit- 
But, under favour o' your langer 
beard, [spared ; 
Abuse o' magistrates might weel ba 
To liken them to your auld - warld 

squad, 
I must needs say comparisons are odd. 
In Ayr, wag- wits nae mair can hae a 
handle [dal ; 

To mouth " a citizen" a term o* scan- 
Nae mair the council waddles down 

the street, 
In all the pomp of ignorant conceit ; 
No difference but bulkiest or tallest, 
With comfortable dullness in for bal- 
last ; [caution. 
Nor shoals nor currents need a pilot's 
For regularly slow, they only witness 
motion ; [hops and raisins, 
INIen wha grew wise priggin' owre 
Or gather'd liberal \iews in bonds and 
seisins, [tramp. 
If haply Knowledge, on a random 
Had shored-® them wi' a glimmer of his 
lamp, [betray 'd them, 
And would to Common Sense for onco 



Half-witted. 



Exposed. 



100 



BURNS' WORKS. 



Plain, dull Stupidity stept kindly in to 
aid tliem. 



What furtlier clislimaclaver -^ might 

been said, [to shed; 

What bloody wars, if sprites had blood 

No man can tell ; but all before their 

sight, 
>S. fairy train appear'd in order bright ; 
Adown the glittering stream they feat- 

ly danced ; 
Blight to the moon their various dress- 
es glanced : [neat, 
They footed o'er the watery glass so 
The infant ice scarce bent beneath 
their feet ; [rung, 
While arts of minstrelsy among them 
And soul-ennobling bards heroic dit- 
ties sung;. 
Oh, had M'Lachlan, :};:}: thairm"^- inspir- 
ing sage, [engage, 
Been there to liear this heavenly band 
When through his dear strathspeys 

they bore with Highland rage; 
Or wdien they struck old Scotia's melt- 
ing airs, 
The lover's raptured joys or bleeding 
cares; [nobler fired, 

How would his Highland lug^^ been 
And even his matchless hand with 
finer touch inspired ! [appear'd, 

No guess could tell what instrument 
But all the soul of Music's self was 

heard; 
Harmonious concert rung in every part, 
While simple melody pour'd moving 
on the heart. 

The Genius of the stream in front 
appears, 
A venerable chief advanced in years; 
His hoary head with water-lilies 

crown'd, [bound. 

His manly leg with garter-tangle 
Next came the loveliest pair in all the 

ring, [with Spring; 

Sweet Female Beauty hand in hand 
Then, crown'd with fioweryhay, came 

Rural Joy, [eye: 

And Summer, with his fervid beaming 



27 Palaver. 28 Cat-gut. 29 Ear. 
tt A well-known performer of Scottish music 
oa the violin.— B. 



All -cheering Plenty, with her flowing 

horn, [nodding corn, 

Led yello^v Autumn, wreathed v/ith 

Then Winter's time- bleach 'd locks did 

hoary show: 
By Hospitality with cloudless brow. 
Next foUow'd Courage, with his mar- 
tial stride, [coverts hide; 
From where the Feal § § wild-woody 
Benevolence, with mild, benignant air, 
A female foYin. came from the towers 
of Stair: I II [trode 
Learning and Worth in equal measures 
From smplo Catrine, their long-loved 
abode :*|"^ [a hazel wreath, 
Last, white-robed Peace, crowned with 
To rustic Agriculture did bequeath 
The broken iron instruments of death; 
At sight of whom our sprites forgat 
their kindling wrath. 



LINES 



ON MEETING WITH LORD DAER. 

In 1786, Professor Dugald Stewart, the well- 
known expounder of the Scottish system 
of metaphysics, resided in a villa at Catrine, 
on the Ayr, a few miles from the poet's 
farm; and having heard of his astonishing 
poetical productions, through Mr. Macken- 
zie, a talented and generous surgeon in 
Mauchline, he invited Burns to dine v.ith 
him, accompanied by his medical friend. 
The poet seems to have been somewhat 
alarmed at the idea of meeting so distin- 
guished a member of the literary world; 
and, to increase his embarrassment, it hap- 

Eened that Lord Daer, (son of the Earl of 
elkirk,) an amiable yoiing nobleman, was 
on a visit to the professor at th-e time. I'h^ 
result, hovi^ever, appears to have been rath- 
er agreeable than otherwise to the poet, 
who has recorded his feelings on the sub- 
ject in the following lines : — 

This wot ye all whom it concerns, 
I, Rhymer Robin, alias Burns, 

October twenty third, 
A ne'or-to-be-forgotten day ! 
Sae far I sprachled^ up the brae, 

I dinner'd \vi' a lord- 



1 Clambered. 

§§The poet here alludes to Captain Mont- 
gomery of Coilsfield — soger Hiigh— afterwards 
twelfth Earl of Eglinton", whose seat of Coils- 
field is situated on the Feal, or Faile, a tribu- 
tary stream of the ."^yr. 

nil A compliment to his early patroness, Mrs. 
Stewart of Stair. 

It A well-merited tribute to Professor Du- 
gald Stewart. 



POEMS. 



101 



I've been at drucken writers' feasts. 
Nay, been bitch fou 'mang godly 
priests ; 

(Wi' rev'rence be it spoken !) 
I've even join'd the honour'd jorum 
When mighty squireships o' the quo- 
rum, 

Their hydra drouth did sloken. 

But \vi' a lord ! — stand out, my shin: 
A lord — a peer — an earl's son ! — 

Up higher yet, my bonnet ! 
And sic a lord! — lang Scotch ells twa, 
Our peerage he o'erlooks them a', 

As I look o'er my sonnet. 

But, oh ! for Hogarth's magic power ! 
To show Sir Bardie's willyart glower, "-^ 

And how he stared an stam- 
mer' d ! 
When goavan,^ as if led wi' branks,-* 
And stumpin' on his ploughman shanks 

He in the parlour hammer'd. I 

To meet good Stewart little pain is, 
Or Scotia's sacred Demosthenes; 

Thinks I, they are but men ! 
But Burns, my lord — guid God ! I 

doited 15 
My knees on ane auither knoited,^ 

As faultering I gaed ben !^ 

T sidling shelter'd in a nook, 
And at his lordship steal't a look, 
^ Like some portentous omen; 

Except good sense and social dee. 
And (what surprised me) modesty, 
I marked nought uncommon. 

I watch'd the symptoms o' the great. 
The gentle pride, the lordly state. 

The arrogant assuming; 
The fient a pride, nae pride had he. 
Nor sauce, nor state, that I could see, 

Mair than an honest ploughman. 

Then from his lordship I shall learn 
Henceforth to meet with unconcern 

One rank as weel's another; 
Nae honest, worthy man need care 
To meet wi' noble,* youthful Daek, 

For he but meets a brother. 



2 Bewildered stare. ^ Movin^ 
stupidly, ■» Bridle. s Became stuoetied. 
* Knocked. '' Into the room, 



ADDRESS TO EDINBURGH. 

Writing to his friend, William Chalmers, the 
poet saj's : ^'I enclose you two poems, whicJt 
I have carded and spun since I passei 
Glenbuck. ' Fair Burnet ' is the heaven!/ 
Miss Burnet, daughter of Lord Monboddo 
at whose house I have had the honour to be 
more than once. There has not been any- 
thmg nearly like her in all the combinations 
of beauty, grace, and goodness the great 
Creator has formed, since Milton's Eve ca 
the first day of her existence !" 

Edtka ! Scotia's darling seat ! 

All hail thy palaces and towers, 
A'^rhere onpe beneath a monarch's feet 
Sat Legislation's sovereign powers ! 
From marking wildly-scatter'd flowers, 
, As on the banks of Ayr I stray'd, 
I And singing, lone, the lingering hours, 
I shelter in thy honour'd shade. 

Here wealth still swells the golden 
tide. 

As busy Trade his labour plies; 
There Architecture's noble pride 

Bids elegance and splendour rise; 
Here Justice, from her native skies. 

High v>'ields her balance and her rod; 
There Learning, vntli his eagle eyes, 

Seeks Science in her coy abode. 

Thy sons, Edina! social, kind. 

With open arms the stranger hail; 
Their views enlarged, their liberal 
mind, 

Above the narrow, rural vale; 
Attentive still to Sorrow's wail. 

Or modest Merit's silent claim ; 
And never may their sources fail ' 

And never envy blot their name ! 

Thy daughters bright thy walks adorn. 

Gay as the gilded summer sky, 
Sweet as the dewy milk-white thorn. 

Dear as the raptured thrill of joy i 
Fair Burnet strikes th' adoring eye. 

Heaven's beauties on my fancy shine; 
I see the Sire of Love on high, ' 

And ov^•n His work indeed divine. 

There, watching high the least alarms. 

Thy rough, rude fortress gleams 
afar: 
Like some bold veteran, gray in arms. 

And mark'd with many a seamy scar; 
The ponderous wall and* massy bar 

Grim-rising o'er the rugged* rock, 
Have oft withstood assailing war. 

And oft repell'd the invader's shock. 



1(^ 



BURNS' WORKS. 



With awe-struck thought, and pityhig 
tears, 

I view that nobis, stately dome, 
Where Scotia's kings of other years. 

Famed lieroes! had their royal home; 
Alas ! how changed the times to coiue ! 

Their royal name low in the dust ! 
Their hapless race wild wandering 
roam! [.U^st. 

Though rigid law cries out, 'Twas 

Wild beats my heart to trace your 
steps, 

Whose ancestors, in days of yore. 
Through hostile ranks and ruin'd gaps 

Old Scotia's bloody lion bore; 
Even I who sing in rustic lore, 

Haply, my sires have left their shed, 
And faced grim Danger's loudest roar, 

Bold- following where your father's 
led! 

Edina! Scotia's darling seat! 

All hail thy palaces and towers, 
Where once beneath a monarch's feet 

Sat Legislation's sovereign powers! 
From marking wildly-scatter'd flowers, 

As on the banks of Ayr I stray'd, 
And singing, lone, the lingering hours, 

I shelter in thy honour'd shade. 



THE POET'S WELCOME TO HIS 
ILLEGITIMATE CHILD.* 

There can be no doubt that the feehng- which 
prompted the composition of this and simi- 
lar poems was not that of the reckless liber- 
tine who was lost to all shame and was 
without regard for the good opinion of his 
fellows. Lockhart hits the truth when he 
says: — " 'To wave ' (m his own language) 
' the quantum of the sin,' he who, two years 
afterwards, wrote the ' Cotter's Saturday 
Night ' had not, we may be sure, hardened 
his heart to the thought of bringing- addi- 
tional sorrow and unexpected shame to the 



* The subject of these verses was the poet's 
illegitimate daughter whom, in "■ The Inven- 
tory," he styles his 

" Sonsie, smirking, dear-bought Bess." 

She grew up to womanhood, was married, 
and had a family. Her death is thus an- 
nounced in the Scots Magazine, December 8, 
1817: — "Died, Elizabeth Burns, wife of Mr. 
John Bishop, overseer at Polkemmet, near 
Whitburn. She was the daughter of the cel- 
ebrated Robert Burns, and the subject of 
some of his most beautiful lines. 



fireside of a widowed mother. But his false 
pride recoiled from letting his ]ovia] associ- 
ates guess how little he was able to drown 
the whispers of the ' still small voice;' and 
the fermenting bitterness of a mind ill at ease 
within itself escaped, (as may be too often 
traced in the history of satirists,) in the 
shape of angry sarcasms against others, 
who, whatever their private errors might be, 
had at least done him no wrong. It is im- 
possible not to smile at one item of consola- 
tion which Burns proposes to himself on 
this occasion : — 

The mair they talk, I'm kenn'd the better: 
E'en let them clash ! 
This is indeed a singular manifestation of 
' the last infirmity of noble minds.' " 

Tnou's welcome, wean ! mishanter^ 

fa' me. 
If ought of thee, or of thy mammy, 
Shall ever danton me, or awe me, 

My sweet wee lady, 
Or if I blush when thou shalt ca' me 

Tit-ta or daddy. 

Wee image of my boniiy Betty, 
I fatherly will kiss and dauf- thee. 
As dear and near my heart I set thee 

Wi' as guid will, 
As a' the priests had seen me get thee 

That's out o' hell. 

What though they ca' me fornicator, 
And tease my name in kintra clatter i^ 
The mair tliey talk I'm kenn'd the 
better, 

E'en let them clash !■• 
An auld wife's tongue's a feckless^ 
matter 

To gie anefash.^ 

Sweet fruit o' mony a merry dint, 

My funny toil is now a' tint. 

Sin' thou came to the warld asklent,'' 

Which fools may scoff at; 
In mv last plack thy part's be in't — 

The better half o't. 

And if thou be what I wad hae thee, 
And tak the counsel I shall gie thee, 
A lovin' father I'll be to thee, 

If thou be spared, [thee. 
Through a' thy childish years I'll ec 

And think 't weel wared, 

Guid grant that thou may aye inherit 
Thy mither's person, grace, and merit, 

' Misfortune, ^ Fondle. ^ Country talk. 
''Gossip. ^ Very small. ^Trouble. '^ Irreg- 
ularly. 



POEMS. 



iu3 



And thy poor worthless daddy's spirit, 
Without his failings, 

'Twill please me mair to hear and see't, 
Than stockit mailins.'^ 



TO MRS C , 

on receiving a work op hai^nah 

more's. 
Thou flattering mark of friendship 

kind, 
Still m-:iy thy pages call to mind 

The dear, the beauteous donor ! 
Though sweetly female every part, 
Yet such a head, and more the heart. 

Does both the sexes honour. 
She show'd her taste refined and just 

When she selected thee. 
Yet deviating, own t must. 
For so approving me. 

But kind still, I mind still 

The giver in the gift, 
I'll bless her, and wiss her 
A friend above the lift, ^ 



TO MISS LOGAN. 

WITH BEATTIE'S poems AS A NEW- 
TEAR'S gift, JAN. 1, 1787. 

Miss Susan Logan was the sister of the Major 
Logan, to whom Burns wrote a rhymed 
epistle. He was indebted to both for many 
pleasant hours when he was suffering from 
despondency. 

Again the silent wheels of time 
Their annual round have driven, 

And you, though scarce in maiden 
prime. 
Are so much nearer heaven. 

No gifts have I from Indian coasts 

The infant year to hail, 
I send you more than India boasts, 

In Edwin's simple tale. 

Our sex with guile and faithless love 
Is charged, perhaps, too true, 

But may, dear maid, each lover prove 
An Edwin still to y ou ! 



VERSES 

INTENDED TO BE WRITTEN BELOV/ A 
NOBLE earl's PICTURE. 

"The enclosed stanzas, ' said the poet, in a 
letter to his patron, the Earl of Glencairn, 



" I intended to write below a picture or 
profile of your lordship, could I have been 
so happy as to procure one with anything of 
a likeness.'' 

Whose is that noble, dauntless brow ? 

And whose that eye of fire? [mien 
And whose that generous princely 

Even rooted foes admire ? 

Stranger, to justly show that brow, 
And mark that eye of fire, [tints 

Would take His hand, whose vernal 
His other works admire. 

Bright as a cloudless summer sun. 
With stately port he moves; 

His guardian seraph eyes with awe 
The noble ward he loves. 

Among the illustrious Scottish sons 
That chief chou mayst discern: 

^lark Scotia's fond returning eye — 
It dv ells upon Glencairn. 



TO A HAGGIS. 

The haggis is a dainty peculiar to Scotland, 
though it is supposed to be an adaptation 
of a French dish. It is composed of minced 
offal of mutton, mixed with meal and suet, 
to which are ridded various condiments by 
way of seasoning, and the whole is tied up 
tightly in a sheep's stomach, and boiled 
therein. Although the ingredients of this 
dish are not over inviting, the poet does not 
far exceed poetic_l license in singing its 
praises. We would recommend the reader 
to turn to page 173 of vol. i. of Wilson's 
" Xoctes Ambrosianse," where he will find 
a graphic and humorous description of a 
monster haggis, and what resulted from 
cutting It up. The Edinviirgk Literary 
JournaL 1829 . made the following state- 
ment . — ' About si.xteen years ago there re- 
sided at Mauchline Mr Robert Morrison, 
cabinetmaker. He was a great crony of 
Burns', and it was in Mr Morrison's house 
that the poet usually spent the ' mids o' the 
day ' on Sunday. It was m this house that 
he wrote his celebrated * Address to a Hag- 
gis, after partaking liberally of that dish as 
prepared by Mrs. Morrison. 

Fair fa' your honest, sonsie ' face. 
Great chieftain o' the puddin' race ! 
Aboon them a' ye tak your place, 

Painch, tripe, or thairm .* 
Weel are ye worthy of a grace 

As lang 's my arm. 



8 Stocked farms. 



Sky. 



' Jolly. ^ Small intestines. 



IU4 



15UKx\» WUKlVft. 



'J'ho groaning trencher there ye fill, 
Your hurdles like a distant hill, 
Your pin* wud help to mend a mill 

In time of need, 
While through your pores the dews 
distil 

Like amber bead. 

His knife see rustic labour dight,^ 
And cut you up vvi' ready slight, 
Trenching your gushing entrails bright 

Like ony ditch ; 
And then, oh, what a glorious sight, 

Warm-reekin',"* rich ! 

Then horn for horn they stretch and 

strive, 
Deil tak the hindmost, on they drive, 
Till all their weel-swall'd Uytes belyvef 

Are bent like drums ; 
Then auld guidman, maist like to rive,^ 

Bethankit hums. 

Is there that owre his French ragout. 
Or olio that wad staw a sow,'' 
Or fricassee wad make her spew' 

Wi' perfect scunner,^ 
Looks down wi' sneering, scornfu' 
view 

On sic a dinner? 

Poor devil ! see him owre his trash. 
As feckless^ as a wither'd rash, 
His spindle-shank a guid whiplash, 

His nieve'*^ anit ; 
Through bloody flood or field to dash. 

Oh, how unfit ! 

But mark the rustic, haggis-fed, 

The trembling earth resounds his 

tread. 
Clap m his walie nieve a blade. 

He '11 mak it whissle ; 
And legs, and arms, and heads will 
sued," 

Like taps o' thrissle. 

Ye powers wha mak mankind your 

care. 
And dish them out their bill o' fare. 



' Wipe, * Smoking » Burst. « Pig- 
' Vomit. 8 Loathmg. » Pithless. " Fist. 
" Cut off. 

* A wooden skewer with which it is hfted 
out and into the vessel in which it is cooked. 

t Till all their well-swollen bellies by-and- 



Auld Scotland wants nae skinking 
ware''^ 

That jaups^^ in luggies ,'•* 
But if ye wish her gratefu' prayer, 

(iie her a haggis I 



PROLOGUE. 

BPOKEN BY MR. WOODS* ON HIS BENE- 
FIT NIGHT, MOND.W, APRIL 16, 1787. 

When by a generous public's kind ac- 
claim, [fame, 
That dearest meed is granted — honest 
When here your favour is the actor's 
lot, [got ; 
Nor even the man in private life for- 
Wliat breast so dead to heavenly vir- 
tue's glow, [ful throe? 
But heaves impassion'd with the grate- 
Poor is the task to please a barbar- 
ous throng, [ern's song ; 
It needs no iSiddons' powers in Soutli- 
But here an ancient nation famed afar. 
For genius, learning high, as great in 

war — 
Hail , Cai-edonta ! name for ever dear ! 
Before whose sons I'm honour'd to ap- 
pear ! [art — 
Where every science — every nobler 
That can inform the mind, or mend 
the heart, [found, 
Is known : as grateful nations oft have 
Far as the rude barbarian marks the 

bound. 
Philoso])hy, no idle pedant dxeam. 
Here holds her search by heaven-taught 
Reason's beam ; [force. 

Here History paints with elegance and 
The tide of Empire's fluctuating cour.se; 
Here Douglas fonns wild Shakespeare 

into plan. 

And Harleyf rouses all the god in man. 

When weli-form'd taste and sparkling 

W'it unite [bright, 

W^ith manly lore, or female beauty 



'2 Thin stuff. '3 Splashes. ^« In wooden 
dishes. 

* Mr. Woods had been the friend of Fergus- 
son. He was long a favourite actor in Edin- 
burgh, and was himself a man of some poetical 
talent. 

t Henry Mackenzie, author ot " The Man ct 
Feeling.' 



rOEMS. 



105 



(Beauty, where faultless symmetry and 

grace, 
Can only charm us in the second place), 
Witness my heart, how oft with punt- 
ing fear, [here; : 
As on this night, I've met these j udges 
But still the hope Experience taught 
to live, [give. 
Equal to judge — you 're candid to for- 
No hundred-headed Riot here we meet, 
With decency and law beneath Ids 
feet : [name ; 
Nor Insolence assumes fair Freedom's 
Like Caledonians, you applaud or 
blame. 

Thou dread Power ! whose empire- 
giving hand [honour'd land ! 
lias oft been stretch'd to shield the 
Strong may she glow with all her an- 
cient fire ! 
May every son be worthy of his sire ! 
Firm may she rise with generous dis- 
dain [chain ! 
At Tyranny's, or direr Pleasure's, 
Still self - dependent in her native 
shore, [loudest roar, 
Bold may she brave grim Danger's 
Till Fate the curtain drops on worlds 
to be no more. 



NATURE'S LAW. 

HUanSLY INSCRIBED TO GAYIN HAM- 
ILTON, ESQ. 

These verses were first published in Mr. Pick- 
ering's edition of the poet's works, printed 
from the original MS. in the poet s hand- 
writing. They appear to have been written 
shortly after " Bonny Jean " had presented 
him with twins. 

" Great Nature spoke — observant miin 
obey'd." — Poie. 

Let other heroes boast their scars, 

The marks of sturt and strife; 
And other poets sing of wars. 

The plagues of human life- 
Shame fa' the fun, wi' sword and gun, 

To slap mankind like lumber ! 
I sing his name and nobler fame, 

Wiia multiplies our number. 

Great Nature spoke, with air benign, 

"Go on, ye human race ! 
This lower world I you resign; 

Be fruitful a«id increase. 



The liquid fire of strong desire 
I've pour'd it in each bosom; 

Here, in this hand, does mankind stand, 
And there is beauty's blossom !" 

The hero of these artless strains, 

A lowly bard was he, 
Who sung his rhymes in Coila's plains. 

With mickle mirth and glee; 
Kind Nature's care had given his share 

Large of the flaming current; 
And all devout, he never sought 

To stem the sacred torrent. 

He felt the powerful, high behest. 

Thrill, vital, through and through; 
And sought a correspondent breast 

To give obedience due; [flowers 

Propitious Powers screen'd the young 

From mildews of abortion: 
And lo ! the bard, a great reward, 

Has got a double portion ! 

Auld cantie Coil may count the day, 

As annual it returns, 
The third of Libra's equal sway, 

That gave another Burns, 
With future rhjTiies, and other times, 

To emulate his sire; 
To sing old Coil in nobler style, 

With more poetic fire. 

Ye powers of peace, and peaceful song, 

Look down with gracious eyes; 
An.l bless auld Coila, large and long, 

With multiplying joys; 
Lang may she stand to prop the land, 

The flower of ancient nations; 
And Burns' spring, her fame to sing. 

To endless generations ! 



THE HERMIT. 

WRITTEN ON A MARBLE SIDEBOARD IN 
THE HERMITAGE BELONGING TO THE 
DUKE OF ATHOLE, IN THE WOOD OP 
ABERFELDY. 

Whoe'er thou art, these lines now 
reading, [receding. 

Think not, though from the world 
I joy my lonely days to lead in 

'/'his desert drear; [ing, 
That fell remorse, a conscience bleed' 

Hath led me here. 



106 



nUKNS' WORKS. 



No thought of guilt my bosom sours. 
Free-will'd I fled from courtly bovvers; 
For well I saw in halls and towers 
That lust and pride, 
The arch - fiend's dearest, darkest 



powers. 



In state preside. 



I saw mankind with vice inc rusted; 
1 saw that Honour's sword was rusted; 
That few for aught but folly lusted; 
That he was still deceived who trusted 

To love or frier.d, 
And hither came, with men disgusted, 

My life to end. 

In this lone cave, in garments lowly, 

Alike a foe to noisy folly, 

And brow-bent gloomy melanchol 

I wear away 
My life, and in my office holy 

Consume the day. 

1 ^lis rock my shield, when storms are 

blowing, 
The limpid streamlet yonder flowing 
Supplying drink, the earth bestowing 

My simple food 
But few enjoy the calm I know in 
This desert wood. 

Content and comfort bless me more in 
This grot than e'er I felt before in 
A palace — and with thoughts still soar- 
ing 

To God on high, 
Each night and morn, with voice im- 
ploring, 

This wish I sigh— 

"Let me. O Lord! from life retire, 
Unknowm each guilty worldly fire, 
Remorse's throb, or loose desire, 

And when I die, 
Let me in this belief expire — 

To God I fly." 

Stranger, if full of youth and riot, 
And yet no grief has marr'd thy quiet, 
Thou haply throw's! a scornful eye at 

The hermit's prayer; 
But if thou hast good cause to sigh at 

Thy fault or care; 

If thou hast known false love's vexa- 
tion, 
Or hast been exiled from thy n^ition, 



Or guilt affrights thy contemplation. 
And makes thee pine, 

Oh ! how must thou lament thy station, 
And envv mine! 



SKETCH OF A CHARACTER. 

" This fragment," says Burns to Dugald 
Stewart, "' I 4iave not shown to man living 
till I now send it to you. It forms the pos- 
tulata, the a.xioms, the definition of a cliar. 
acter, which, if it appear at all, shall be 
placed in a variety of lights. This particular 
part I send you merely as a sample of mv 
hand at portrait-sketching." 

A LITTLE, upright, pert, tart, tripping 
wight, Hiffiit: 

And still his precious self his dear dc- 
Who loves his own smart shadow in 
the streets [meets: 

Better than e'er the fairest she he 
A man of fashion, too, he made his 
tour [r amour/ 

Learn'd Vive la bagatelle, et Vue 
So travell'd monkies their grimace im- 
prove, [love 
Polish their grin, nay, sigh for ladies' 
Much specious lore, but little under- 
stood: 
Veneering oft outshines the solid wood 
His solid sense by inches you must tell. 
But mete his cunning by the old Scots 

ell, 
His meddling vanity, a busy fiend 
Still making w^ork his selfish craft 
must mend. 



VERSES 

ON READING IN A NEWSPAPER THE 
DE.A.TH OF JOHN M'LEOD, ESQ.. BRO- 
TIIER TO A YOUNG LADY, A PARTIC- 
ULAR FRIEND OP THE AUTHOR'S. 

Sad thy tale, thou idle page. 

And rueful thy alarms 
Death tears the brother of her love 

From Isabella's arms 

Sweetly deckt with pearly dew 
The 'morning ro^e may blow; 

But cold successive noontide blasts 
May lay its beauties low. 

Fair on Isabella's morn 
The sun propitious smiled; 

But. long ere noon, succeeding clouda 
Succeeding hopes beguiled. 



POELMS 



107 



Fate oft tears the bosom chords 

That nature finest strung: 
So Isabella's heart was form'd, 

And so that heart was wrung. 

Were it in the poet's power, 
Stnmg as he shares the grief 

That pierces Isabella's heart, 
To give that heart relief! 

Dread Omnipotence alone 

Can heal the wound he gave; 

Can point the brimful grief- worn eyes 
To scenes beyond the grave. 

Virtue's blossoms there shall blow, 
And fear no withering blast; 

There Isabella's spotless worth 
Shall happy be at last. 



ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF SIR 
JAMES HUNTER BLAIR. 

Sir James Hunter Blair, who died in 1787, was 
a partner in the eminent banking house of 
Sir William Forbes & Co., of Edinburgh. 

The lamp of day, with ill-presaging 

glare, [ern v>^ave; 

Dim^ cloudy, sunk beneath the west- 

The inconstant blast howl'd through 

the darkening air, [cave. 

And hollow whistled m the rocky 

Lone as I wander'd by each cliff and 

dell, [royal train;* 

Once the loved haunts of Scotia's 

Or mused where limpid streams, once 

hallow'd, well.f [fane.:}: 

Or mouldering ruins mark the sacred 

The increasing blast roar'd round the 

beetling rocks, [starry sky, 

The clouds swift- wing'd flew o'er the 

The groaning trees untimely shed their 

locks, [startled eye. 

And shooting meteors caught the 

The paly moon rose in ths livid east, 

And 'mong the cliffs disclosed a stately 

form, [breast. 

In w^eeds of woe, that frantic beat her 

And mix'd her wailings with the 

raving storm. 

* The King's Park, at Holyrood House. 
t St. Anthony's Well. 
i St. Anthony's Chapel. 



Wild to my heart the filial pulses glow, 

'Twas Caledonia's trophied shield I 

^'lew'd: [woe. 

Her form majestic droop'd in pensive 

Th» . .„ ^i her eye in tears 

imbued. 

Reversed that spear redoubtable in war, ' 

Reclined that banner, erst in fields 

unfurl'd, [afar, 

That like a deathful meteor gieam'd 

And braved the mighty monarchs of 

the world. 

"My patriot son fills an untimely 



grave 



[she cried; 

With accents wild and lifted arms 

' * Low lies the hand that oft was 

stretch'd to save, [honest pride. 

Low lies the heart that swell'd with 

"A weeping country joins a widow's 

tear, [phan'scry; 

The helpless poor mix with t.ie or- 

The drooping arts surround their pa 

tron's bier, [heartfelt sigh! 

And grateful science heaves the 

' ' I saw my sons resume their ancient 
fire. [blow; 

I saw fair Freedom's blossoms richly 
But ah ! how hope is born but to expire! 
Relentless Fate has laid their guard- 
ian low. 

" My patriot falls, but shall lie lie un- 
sung, [worthless name? 
While empty greatness saves a 
No; every Muse shall join her tuneful 
tongue, [fame. 
And future ages hear his growmg 

"And I will join a mother's tender 

caves, [virtues last; 

Through future times to make his 

That distant years may boast of other 

Blairs !'' — [sleeping blast. 

She said, and vanish' d with the 



TO MISS FERRIER, 

ENCLOSING THE ELEGY ON SIR J. E 
BLAIR. 

Nae heathen name shall I prefix 
Frae Pindus or Parnassus; 

Auld Reekie dings^ them a' to sticks. 
For rhyme-inspiring lasses. 

1 Beats. 



108 



BURNS' WORKS. 



Jove's tunefu' docliters three times 
tliree 

Made Homer deep tlieir debtor; 
But, gien the body half an ee, 

Nine Ferriers wad done better! 

Last day my mind was in a bog, 
Down George's street I stoited;- 

A creepmg, cauld, prosaic fog 
My very senses doited.^ 

Do what I dought^ to set her free. 
My saul lay in the mire; < 

Ye turn'd a neuk^ — I saw your ee- 
She took the wing lilce fire ! 

The mournfu' sang I here enclose. 

In gratitude I send you; 
And [wish and] pray in rhyme sincere, 

A' guid things may attend vou 



LINES 

WHITTEN WITH A PENCIL OVER THE 
CHIMNEY-PIECE IN THE P^UILOUR 
OF THE INN AT KENMORE, TAY 
MOUTH. 

Admiring Nature in her wildest grace. 
These northern scenes with weary feet 

I trace; [steep, 

O'er many a winding dale and painful 
The abodes of covey'd grouse and timid 

sheep, 
My savage journey, curious, T pursue, 
Till famed Breadalbane opens to my 

view, — [divides. 

The meeting cliffs each deep-sunk glen 
The woods, wild scatter'd clothe their 

ample sides; ['mongtlie hills. 

The outstretching lake, embosom'd 
The eye with wonder and amazement 

fills [pride, 

The Tay, meandering sweet in infant 
The palace, rising on its verdant side; 
The lawns, wood-fringed in Nature's 

native taste; [haste, 

The hillocks, dropt in Nature's careless 
The arches, striding o'er the new born 

stream ; [beam — 

The village, glittering in the noontide 

Poetic ardours in my bosom swell, 

^ Tottered. 3 Stupefied. « Would. 

6 Comer, 



Lone wan ■ -ring by the hermit's mossy 
cell: [vtroods! 

The sweeping theatre of hanging 
The incessant roar of headlong tum- 
bling floods. 

Here Poesy might wake her Heaven- 
taught lyre, [tive fire; 
And look through Nature with crea- 
Here, to the wrongs of Fate half-recon- 
ciled, [der wild; 
iSIisf ortune's lighten'd steps might wan- 
And Disappointment, in these lonely 
bounds, [ling wounds; 
Find balm to soothe her bitter rank- 
Here heart-struck Grief might heaven- 
ward stretch her scan, [man. 
And injured Worth forget and pardon 



THE HUMBLE PETITION OF 
BRUAR WATER.* 

TO THE NOBLE DUKE OF ATHOLE. 

My lord, I know your noble ear 

Woe ne'er assails in vain; 
Embolden'd thus, I beg you'll hear 

Your humble slave complain. 
How saucy Phoebus' scorching beams, 

In flaming summer pride, [streams. 
Dry •• withering, waste my foamy 

And drink my crystal tide. 

The lightly -jumpin' glowrin' trouts, 

That through my waters play. 
If, in tlieir random, wanton spouts, 

They near the margin stray , 
If, hapless chance! they linger lang, 

I'm scorching up so shallow. 
They 're left, the whitening stanes 
amang, 

In gasping death to wallow. 

Last day I grat wi' spite and teen. 

As Poet Burns came by. 
That to a bard I should be seen 

Wi' half my channel dry ; 
A panegyric rhjmie, I ween. 

Even as I was he shored^ me ; 
But had I in my glory been, 

He, kneeling, wad adored me. 



' Promised- 
* Bruar Falls, in Athole, are exceedingly- 
picturesque and beautiful : but their effect is 
much impaired by the want of trees and 
.shrubs. — B 



FOEIJS. 



109 



Here, foaming down the slielvy rocks, 

In twisting strength I rin ; 
There, high my boiling torrent smokes, 

\Vild-roaring o'er a linn . 
Enjoying large each spring and well, 

As nature gave them me, 
i am, although I say 't mysel, 

^Vorth gaun^ a mile to see. 

V\'ould, then, my noblest master please 

To grant my highest wishes, 
lie '11 shade my banks wi' towering 
trees, 

And bonny spreading bushes, 
Delighted doubly, then, my lord, 

You '11 wander on my banks, 
And listen mony a grateful bird 

Return you tuneful thanks. 

The sober laverock,^ warbling wild, 

Shall to the skies aspire ; 
The gowdspink. Music's gayest child, 

Shall sweetiy join the choir ; 
The blackbird strong, the lintwhitc 
clear. 

The mavis-* mild and mellow ; 
The robin pensive autumn cheer. 

In all her locks of yellow. 

This, too, a covert shall insure, 

To shield them from the storms ; 
An 1 coward maukins^ sleep secure 

Low in their grassy forms , 
The shepherd here shall make his 
seat. 

To weave his crown of flowers ; 
Or find a sheltering safe retreat 

From prone descending showers. 

And here, by sweet endearing stealth, 

Shall meet the loving pair, 
Despising worlds with all their wealth, 

As empty idle care. [charms 

The flowers shall vie in all their 

The hour of heaven to grace, 
Ar.rl birks extend their fragrant arms 

To screen the dear embrace. 

Here haply, too, at vernal dawn, 
Some musing bard may stray, 

And eye the smoking dewy lawn. 
And misty mountain gray , 

Or, by the reaper's nightly beam,'^ 
Miid-chequering through the trees. 



2 Going. 3 Lark. 
* The harvest moon. 



Thrush. ^ Hares. 



Have to my darkly-dashing stream, 
Hoarse swelling on the breeze. 

Let lofty firs, and ashes cool, 

My lowly banks o'erspread. 
And view, deep- bending in the pool. 

Their shadows' watery bed ! 
Let fragrant birks in woodbines drest 

My craggy cliffs adorn , 
And* for the little songster's nest, 

The close-embowering thorn. 

So may old Scotia's darling hope, 

Your little angel band, 
Spring, like their fathers, up to prop 

Their honour'd native land! 
So may through Albion's furthest ken, 

To social flowing glasses. 
The grace be — " Athole's honest men, 

And Athole's bonny lasses !" 



LINES 



WEITTEN WITH A PENCIL, STANDING 
BY THE FALL OP FYERS, NEAR 
LOCH NESS. 

Among the heathy hills and ragged 

woods [floods; 

The roaring Fyers pours his mossy 
Till full he dashes on the rocky mounds, 
Where, through a shapeless breach, 

his stream resounds, [flew, 

As high in air the bursting torrents 
As deep-recoiling surges foam below. 
Prone down the rock the whitening 

sheet descends, [rends. 

And viewless Echo's ear, astonished 
Dim seen through rising mists and 

ceaseless showers, [lowers. 

The hoary cavern, wide-surrounding. 
Still, through the gap the struggling 

river toils, [boils. 

And still, below, the horrid caldron 



CASTLE-GORDON. 

Strea:.ts that glide in orient plains, 
Never bound by Winter's chains! 

Glowing here on golden sands. 
There commix'd with foulest stains 

From tyranny's empurpled bands. 
These, their richly-gleaming waves, 
I leave to tyrants and their slaves, 
Give me the stream that sweetly laves 

The banks by Castle-Gordon. 



no 



BUR:siS' WORKS. 



Spicy forests, ever gay. 
Shading from the burning i*ay, 

Hapless wretches sold to toil, 
(^v the ruthless native's way. 

Bent on slaughter, blood, and spoil ; 
^Voods that ever verdant wave, 
1 leave the tyrant and the slave, 
uive me the groves that lofty brave 

The storms by Castle-Gordon. 

^Vildly here without control, 
Is'ature reigns and rules the whole; 

In that sober pensive mood, 
Dearest to the feeling soul, [flood; 

She plants the forest, pours the 
Life's poor day I'll musing rave, 
And find at night a sheltering cave, 
\^^here waters flow and wild woods 
wave, 

By bonny Castle-Gordon 



ON SCARING SOME WATER 
FOWL IN LOCH TURIT. 

A WILD SCENE AMONG THE HIIiLS OF 
OCHTERTYrvE. 

Why, ye tenants of the lake, 
For me your watery haunts forsake ? 
Tell me, fellow-creatures, why 
At my presence thus you iiy ') 
Why disturb your social joys. 
Parent, filial, kindred ties? — 
Common friend to you and me. 
Nature's gifts to all are free: 
Peaceful keep your dimpling wave, 
]3usy feed, or wanton lave; 
Or, beneath the sheltering rocl^, 
Bide the surging billow's shock. 

Conscious, blushing for our race, 
Soon, too soon, your fears I trace. 
Man, your proud usurping foe, 
Would be lord of all below 
Plumes himself in freedom's pride. 
Tyrant stern to all beside. 
The eagle, from the cliiiy brow, 
Marking you his prey below. 
In his breast no pity dwells, 
Strong necessity compels. 
But man, to whom alone is given 
A ray direct from pitying Heaven, 
Glories in his heart humane — 
And creatures for his pleasure slain, 
In these savage, liquid plains, 
Only known to waiidorln^: swains. 



Wliere the mossy rivulet strays. 

Far from human haunts and Wi.v ; 

All on nature you depend, 

And life's poor season peaceful spend. 

Or, if man's superior might 

Dare invade your native right. 

On the lofty ether borne, 

Man with all his powers you scorn. 

Sv.'iftly seek, on clanging wings. 

Other lakes and other springs; 

And the foe you cannot brave 

Scorn at least to be his slave. 



TO MISS CRUIKSHANK, 

A VERY YOUNG LADY. WTRITTEN Oli 
THE BLANK LEAF OF A BOOK PRE- 
SENTED TO HER BY THE AUTHOR. 

This young lady was the subject of one of the 
poet's soHgs, " A Rosebud by my Early 
Walk." She was the daughter of Mr. Cru;k- 
shank, No. 30 St. James' Square, Eoin- 
burgh, with whom the poet resided for 
some time during one of his visits to Edin- 
burgh. She afterwards became the wife of 
Mr. Henderson, a solicitor m Jedburgh. 

Beauteous rosebud, young and gay. 

Blooming in thy early INiay, 

Never mayst thou, lovely flower! 

(hilly shrink in sleety shower ! 

Never Boreas' hoary -p&ih, 

Never Eurus' poisonous breath. 

Never baleful stellar lights, 

Taint thee with untimely bligh.ts ! 

Never, never reptile thief 

Riot on thy virgin leaf! 

Not even Sol too fiercely 'view 

Thy bosom blushing still with dew ! 

ISIayst thou long, sweet crimson gem, 
Riclily deck thy native stem; 
'Till some evening, sober calm. 
Dropping dews, and breathing balm, 
While all around the woodland rings. 
And every bird thy requiem sings; 
Thou, amid the dirgeful sound. 
Shed thy dying honours round, 
And resign to parent earth 
The loveliest form she e'er gave birth. 



POETICAL ADDRESS TO MR. WIL- 
LIAM TYTLER. 

with a present of THE BARD'S 
PICTURE. 

William Tytler. Esq.. of Woodhouselee, to 
whom these lines were addressed, wrote a 



POEMS. 



Ill 



work ill defence of Mary Queen of Scots, 
and earned the gratitude of Burns, who had 
all a poet's svmpathies for the unfortunate 
and beautiful queen. Mr. Tytler was grand- 
father to Patrick Fraser Tytler, the author 
of " The Histor>- of Scotland." 

Revered defender of beauteous Stu- 
art, 
Of Stuart, a name once respected, — 
A name wliicli to love was the mark of 
a true heart, 
But now 'tis despised and neglected. 

Though something- like moisture con- 

globes in mv eye. 

Let no one misdeem me disloyal ; 

A poor friendless wanderer may well 

claim a sigh, [royal. 

Still more, if that wanderer vv-ere 

My fathers that name have revered on 
a throne ; 
My fathers have fallen to right it ; 
Those fathers would spurn their degen- 
erate son, [slight it. 
That name should he scoffingly 

Still in prayers for King George I most 
heartily join. 
The queen and the rest of the gentry ; 
Be they wise, be they foolish, is noth- 
ing of mine — 
Their title's avow'd by my country. 

But vrhy of tliis epocha make such a 
fuss 

That gave us the Hanover stem ; 
If bringing them over was lucky for us, 

I 'm sure 'tAvas as lucky for them. 

But, loyalty, truce ! we 're on danger- 
ous ground, [alter ? 
Who knows how the fashions may 
The doctrine to-day that is loyalty 
sound. 
To-morrow may bring us a halter. 

I send you a trifle, a head of a bard, 
A trifle scarce worthy your care : 

But accept it, good sir, as a mark of re- 
gard. 
Sincere as a saint's dying prayer. 

Now life's chilly evening dim shades 

on your eye. 

And ushers the long dreary night • 

But you, like the star that athwart 

gilds the sky. 

Your course to the latest is bright. 



ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF ROB- 
ERT DUXDAS, ESQ., OF ARNIS- 
TOX,* 

LATE LORD PRESIDE^'T OF THE COLTiT 

OF SESSION. 

In a letter to Dr. Geddes, Bums tells the fate 
of this poem, and makes his own comment : 
— " The following elegy has some tolerable 
lines in it, but the incurable wound of ray 
pride will not suffer me to correct, or even 
peruse, it. I sent a copy of it, with my best 
prose letter, to the son of the great man, the 
theme of the piece, by the hands of one. of 
the noblest men in God's world — Alexander 
Wood, surgeon. When, behold ! his solicit - 
orship took no more notice of m}' poem or 
me than if I had been a strolling fiddler who 
had made free with his lady's name over a 
silly new reel ! Did the gentleman ilnagine 
that I looked for any dirty gratuity !" 

LoxE on the bleaky hills the straying 
Hocks [tering rocks ; 

Shun the ucrce storms among the shel- 
Down foam the rhnilets, red with dash- 
ing rains ; [tant plains ; 
The gathering floods burst o'er the dis- 
Beneath the blast the leafless forests 

groan ; 
The hollow caves return a sullen moan. 

Ye hills, ye plains, ye forests, and ye 
caves, [waves ! 

Ye hovding winds, and wintry-swelling 
L^nheard, unseen, by human ear or cyo, 
Sad to your sympathetic scenes I lly ; 
Where^ to the whistling blast and wa- 
ter's roar [pi ore. 
Pale Scotia's recent wound I may de- 
Oh heavy loss, thy country ill could 

bear ! 
A loss these evil days can ne'er repair ! 
Justice, the high vicegerent of her God, 
Her doubtful balance eyed, and sway'd 

her rod ; 
She heard the tidings of the fatal blow, 
And sunk, abandon' d to the wildest 



Wrongs, injuries, from many a dark- 
some den, [men : 
Now gay in hope explore the paths of 
See, from his cavern, grim Oppression 
rise, 

* Elder brother to Viscount Melville, born 
1713, appointed President in 1760, and died 
December 13, 17S7, after a short illness. 



113 



BURXS' WORKS. 



And throw on Poverty hia cruel eyes ; 

Keen on the helpless victim see him 

tiv, [c:y. 

And stifle, dark, the feebly-bursting 

I.Iark ruffian Violence, distaincd with 

crimes, [times ; 

rJousing elate in these degenerate 
Mew unsuspecting Innocence a prey, 
x\s guileful Fraud points out the erring 

way : 
While subtle Litigation's pliant tongue 
The life-blood equal sucks of Right 

rfnd Wrong : [iisten'd lalo, 

Hark ! injured Want recounts th' un- 
And much-wrong'd Misery pours the 

un pi tied wail ! 

Ye dark waste hills, and brown un- 
sightly plains, [strains : 
To you I sing my grief - inspired 
Ye tempests, rage ! ye turbid torrents, 

roll ! 
Ye suit the joyless tenor of my soul. 
Life's social haunts and pleasures I re- 
sign, [higs mine, 
Be nameless wilds and lone wander- 
To mourn the woes my country must 
endure, [cure. 
That wound degenerate ages cannot 



TO CLARINDA, 

ON THE poet's LEAVING EDINBURGH. 

The maiden name of Clarinda was Agnes 
Craig. At the time Burns made her ac- 
quamtance she was the wife of a Mr. M'Le- 
hose, from whom she had been separated 
on account of mcompatibility of temper, 
etc. She seems to have entertamed a sin- 
cere afifection for the poet. Burns, who was 
always engaged in some affair of the heart, 
:;cems to have been much less smcere. His 
letters to her are somewhat forced and stilt- 
ed, and contrast very unfavourably v.-ith 
those of hers, which have been preserved. 
He soon forgot her, however, to her great 
regret and mortification. She was beautiful 
and accomplished, and a poetess. (See pre- 
fatory note to Letters to Clarinda.) Burns 
thus alludes to one of her productions : — 
" Your last verses to me have so delighted 
me that I have got an excellent old Scots air 
tliat suits the measure, and you shall see 
them in print in the Sco^s Musical Museum^ 
a work publishing- by a friend of mine in 
this town. The air is ' The Banks of Spcy,' 
and is most beautiful. I want four stanzas 
— you gave me but three, and one of them 
alluded to an expression in my former let- 
ter ; so I have taken your first two verses. 



v/ith a slight alteration in the second, and 
liave added a third ; but you must lielp me 
to a fourth. Here they are ; the latter haif 
of the first stanza would have been worthy 
of Sappho ; I am in raptures with it : — 

" ' Talk not of Love, it gives me pain. 
For love has been my foe ; 
He bound me with an iron chain. 
And plunged me deep in woe. 

" ' But friendship's pure and lasting iovs 
My heart was lorm'd to prove ; 
There, welcome, win, and wear the prize. 
But never talk of Love. 

" ' Your friendship much can make me blest. 
Oh ! why that bliss destroy.? 
Why urge the odious [only] one request 
You know I must [will] deny ?' 

" /"..S".— What would you think of this for a 
fourth stanza ? 

" ' Your thought, if Love must harbour there. 
Conceal it in that thought ; 
Nor cause me from my bosom tear 
The very friend I sought.' ' 

These verses are inserted in the second vol- 
ume of the Musical Museum. 

Clarinda, mistress of my soul, 
The measured time is run ! 

The wretch beneath the dreary pole, 
So marks his latest sun« 

To what dark cave of frozen night 

Shall poor Sylvander hie ? 
Deprived of thee, his life and light. 

The sun of all his joy ! 

We part — but, by these precious drops 

That fill thy lovely eyes 1 
No other light shall gtiide my steps 

Till thy bright beams arise. 

She, the fair sun of all her sex. 

Has blest my glorious day; 
And shall a glimmering planet fix 

My vv-orship to its ray ? 



TO CLARINDA. 

WITH A PRESENT OF A PAIR OF DRINK- 
ING-GLASSES. 

Fair empress of the poet's soul, 

And queen of poetesses; 
Clarinda, take this little boon. 

This humble pair of glasses. 

And fill them high with generous juice, 

As generous as your mind; 
And pledge me in" the generous toast— 

" The whole of human kind !" 



POEMS. 



113 



" To those that love us !" — second fill; 

But not to those whom we love ; 
Lest we love those who love not us ! 

A. third — " To thee and me, love !" 

Long may we live ! long may we love ! 

And long may we be happy ! 
And never may we want a glass 

Well charged with generous nappy ! 



TO CLARINDA. 
Before I saw Clarinda's face, 

My heart was blithe and gay. 
Free as the wind, or feather'd race 

That hop from spray to spray. 

Eut now dejected I appear, 

Clarinda proves unkind; 
1, sighing, drop the silent tear, 

But no relief can find. 

In plaintive notes ray tale rehearses 
When I the fair have found; 

Oil every tree appear my verses 
That to her praise resound. 

But she, ungrateful, shuns my sight, 

My faithful love disdains, 
My vows and tears her scorn excite — 

Another happy reigns. 

Ah, though my looks betray, 

I envy your success; 
Yet love to friendship shall give way, 

I camiot wish it less. 



Your dear idea reigns, and reigns alone : 
Each thought intoxicated homage 

yields. 
And riots wanton in forbidden fields ! 

By all on high adoring mortals know ! 
By all the conscious villain fears below! 
By your dear self ! — the last great oath 

I swear — 
Nor life nor soul was ever half so dear ! 



TO CLARDTBA. 
" I BURN, I burn, as whefl through 

ripen'd corn, [are borne!" 

!By driving winds, the crackling tiames 
Now maddening wild, I curse that 

fatal night; [my guilty sight. 

Now bless the hour which charmed 
In vain the laws their feeble force 

oppose; [vanquish'd foes- 

Chain'd at his feet they groan Love's 
In vain Religion meets my shrinking 

eye, 
I dare not combat — but I turn and fly 
Conscience in vain upbraids the unhal 

low d fire, [expire; 

Love grasps its scorpions — stifled they 
Reason drops headlong froui his sacred 

tin-one. 



LINES 



WRITTEN IN friars' CARSE HERMIT 
AGE, ON THE BANKS OP THE NITH. 

{First Version.) 

Burns thought so well of this poem, that he 
preserved both copies. The first wasv/nt- 
ten in June, 1783. The MS. of the amended 
copy IS headed, " Altered from the forego- 
ing, in December, 1788." The hermitage m 
which these hnes were written was on the 
property of Captain Riddel of Friars' Carse, 
a beautiful house with fine grounds, a mil.', 
above Ellisland. One of the many kindly 
favours extend to the poet by Captain Rid- 
del and his accomplished lady was the per- 
mission to wander at will in the beautiful 
grounds of Friars' Carse. The first six line^: 
were graven with a diamond on a pane oi 
glass in a window of the hermitage. 

Thou whom chance may hither lead. 
Be thou clad in russet weed. 
Be thou deckt in silken stole. 
Grave these maxims on thy soul: — 

Life is but a day at most, 
Sprung from night, in darkness lost; 
Day, how rapid in its flight — 
Day, how few must see the night; 
Hope not sunshine every hour. 
Fear not clouds will always lower. 
Happiness is but a name, 
Make content and ease thy aim; 
Ambition is a meteor gleam ; 
Fame an idle, restless dream 
Pleasures, insects on the wing. 
Round Peace, the tenderest flower oi 

Spring I 
Those that sip the dew alone. 
Make the butterflies thy own ; 
Those that would the bloom devour, 
Crush the locusts — save the flower. 
For the future be prepared, 
Guard whatever thou canst guard; 
But, tliy utmost duly done. 
Welcome v>^hat thou canst not shun. 
Follies past give thou to air, 



Z14 



BURNS' WORKS. 



Make their consequence thy care ; 
Keep the name of man in mind, 
And dishonour not thy kind. 
Reverence with lowly heart 
Him whose wondrous work thou art ; 
Keep His goodness still in view, 
Thy trust — and thy example, too. 

Stranger, go ! Heaven be thy guide, 
Quoth the Beadsman on Nithside. 



LINES 



WRITTEN IN friars' CARSE HERMIT 
AGE, ON NITHSIDE. 

{^Second Version^ 

Thou whom chance may hither lead. 
Be thou clad in russet weed, 
Be thou deckt in silken stole, 
Grave these counsels on thy soul :— 

Life is but a day at most, 
Sprung from night, in darkness lost ; 
Hope not sunshine every hour, 
Fear not clouds will always lower. 

As Youth and Lov6, with sprightly 

dance, 
Beneath thy morning- star advance, 
Pleasure, with her siren air. 
May delude the thoughtless pair ; 
Let Prudence bless Enjoyment's cup. 
Then raptured sip, and sip it up. 

As thy day grows warm and high, 
Life's meridian flaming nigh. 
Dost thou spurn the humble vale? 
Life's proud summits wouldst thou 

scale ? 
Check thy climbing step, elate, 
Evils lurk in felon wait ; 
Dangers, eagle-pinion'd, bold. 
Soar around each cliffy hold, 
While cheerful Peace, with linnet song, 
Cliants the lowly dells among. 

As the shades of evening close. 
Beckoning thee to long repose ; 
As life itself becomes disease. 
Seek the chimney neuk of ease, 
There ruminate ^vith sober thought 
On all thou'st seen, and heard, and 

wrought ;, 
And teach the sportive younkers round, 
Saws of experience sage and sound ; 
gay, man's true, genuine estimate. 



The grand criterion of his fate. 
Is not — Art thou high or low % 
Did thy fortune ebb or flow ? 
Wast thou cottager or king ? 
Peer or peasant V — no such thing 1 
Did many talents gild thy span? 
Or frugal Nature grudge thee one ? 
Tell them, and press it on their mind, 
As thou thyself must shonly find. 
The smile or frown of awful Heaven 
To Virtue or to Vice is given. 
Say, " To be just, and kind, and \%dse 
There solid Self enjoyment lies; 
That-foolish, selfish, faithless ways 
Lead to the wretched, vile and base." 

Thufs resign'd and quiet, creep 

To the bed of lasting sleep; 

Sleep, whence thou shalt ne'er awake, 

Night, where dawn shall never break. 

Till future life — future no more — 

To light and joy the good restore. 

To light and joy unknown before! 

Stranger, go! Heaven be thy guide! 
Quoth the Beadsman of Nithside. 



A SMOTHER'S LAMENT FOR THE 
DEATH OF HER SON. 

j The poet says- — " ' The Mother's Lament' 
was composed partly with a view to Mrs. 
I Fergusson of Craigdarroch, and partly to the 
i worthy patroness of my early » anknown 
I muse, Mrs. Stewart of Afton" It was also 



inserted in the Musical Miisc7iin^\.o the tune 
of '• Finlayston House." 

Fate gave the word, the arrow sped, 

And pierced my darling's hearti 
And with him all the joys are fled 

Life can to me impart. 
By cruel hands the sapling drops, 

In dust dishonour'd laid ; 
So fell the pride of all my hopes. 

My age's future shade. 

The mother linnet in the brake 

Bewails her ravish'd young. 

So I, for my lost darling's sake, 

Lament the live -day long 
Death, oft I've fear'd thy fatal blow, 
j Now, fond, I bare my breast. 
: Oh. do thou kindly lay me low 
I With him I love, at rest! 



POEMS. 



115 



ELEGY ON THE YEAR 1788. 

A SKETCH. 

Cunningham says :— " Truly has the plou^rh- 
man bard described the natures of those 
illustrious rivals, Fox and Pitt, under the 
similitude of the ' birdie cocks,' Nor will 
the allusion to the ' hand-cuf?ed, muzzled, 
half-shacided regent ' be lost on those who 
remember the alarm into which the nation 
was thrown by the king's illness." 

Foil lords or kings I dinna mourn, 
l^'en let them, die — for tliat they're 

born ! 
B tit oh! prodigious to reflec* ! 
A towmont,^ sirs, is gane to wreck! 
O Eighty-eight, in thy sma' space 
"What dire events hae taken place! 
Of what enjoyments thou hast reft us! 
In what a pickle thou hast left us! 

The Spanish empire's tint- a head. 
And my auld teethiess Bawtie's^ dead; 
The tulzie's* sair 'tween Pitt and Fox, 
And our guid wife's w^ee birdie cocks; 
The tane is game, a bluidy devil, 
But to the hen-birds unco civil ; 
liie tither's something dour o' treadin'. 
But better stuff ne'er claw'd a midden. 

Ye ministers, come mount the pu'pit, 
And cry till ye be hoarse and roopit. 
For Eighty- eight he wish'd you weel. 
And gied you a' baith gear^ and meal; 
E'en mony a plack, and mony a peck. 
Ye ken joursels, for little feck !** 

Ye bonny lasses , dighf^ your een, 
For some o' you hae tint a frien'; 
In Eighty-eight, ye ken,* was ta'en 
What ye'll ne'er hae to gie again. 

Observe the very nowte^ and sheep, 
liow dowf and dowie'^ now they creep; 
Nay, even the yirth itsel does cry. 
For Embrugh wells are grutten'^" dry. 

O Eighty-nine, thou's but a bairn. 
And no owre auld, I hope to learn ! 
Thou beardless boy, I pray tak care, 
Thou now hast got thy daddy's chair, 
Nae hand-cuff'd, muzzled, half -shack- 
led regent. 
But like himsel, a full, free agent. 
Be sure ye follow out the plan 



1 Twelvemonth. ^ Lost. ^ His dog. 

* Fight. 6 Goods. 8 Work. ^ Wipe. « Know. 
"CaiUe. »o Pithless and low spirited, n Wept. 



Nae waur^"^ than he did, honest man I 
As muckle better as you can. 
Jan. I, 1789. 



TO CAPTAIN RIDDEL OF GLEN, 
RIDDEL. 

EXTEMPORE LINES ON RETURNING A 
NEWSPAPER, 

The newspaper sent contained some sharp 
strictures on the poet's works. 

Ellisland, Monday Eveni'jJg. 

Your news and review, sir, I've read 

throitgh and through, sir, 

With little admiring or blaming; 

The papers are barren of home news or 

foreign, \}^~,- 

No murders or rapes worth the nam- 

Our friends the reviewers, tliose chip- 

pers and hewers, 
Are ;judges of mortar and stone, sir; 
But of meet or unmeet, in a fabria 

complete, 
I boldly pronounce they are none, sir. 

My goose-quill too rude is to tell all your 

goodness 

Bestow'd on your servant the poet; 

Would to God I had one like a beam 

of the sun, [Imow it ! 

And then all the world, sir, should 



ODE: 

SACRED TO THE .MEMORY OF 
MRS. OSWALD. 

The origin of this bitter and not very credit- 
able effusion is thus related by the poet in a 
letter to Dr. Moore : — " The enclosed ' Ode' 
is a compliment to the memory of the late 
Mis. Oswald of Auchincruive. You prob-» 
ably knew her personally, an honour which 
I cannot boast, but I spent my early years 
in her neighbourhood, and among her ser. 
vants and tenants. I know that she was de- 
tested with the most heartfelt cordiality. 
However, in the particular part of her con~ 
duct which roused my poetical wrath she 
was- much less blamable. In January last, 
on my road to Ayrshire, I had to put up at 
Bailie Whigham s in Sanquhar, the only 
tolerable inn in the place. The frost was 
keen, and the grim evening and howling 
v/ind were ushering in a night of snow ana 
drift. My horse and 1 were both muck 



13 Worse. 



113 



BURNS' WORKS. 



fatigued with the labours of the day ; and 
just as my friend the baiUe and I were bid- 
ding defiance to the storm, over a smoking 
bowl, in wheels the funeral pageantry of the 
late Mrs. Oswald ; and poor I am forced to 
brave all the terrors of the tempestuous 
night, and jade my horse— my young favor- 
ite horse, whom I had just christened 
Pegasus— further on, through the wildest 
hills and moor? of Ayrshire, to New Cum- 
nock, the next inn. The powers of poesy 
and prose sink under me when I would de- 
scribe what I felt. Suffice it to say that, 
when a good tire at New Cumnock had so 
far recovered my frozen sinews, I sat down 
and wrote the enclosed ' Ode.' " The poet 
lived to think more favourably of the name : 
one of his finest lyrics, " Oh, wat ye wha's 
in yon town," was written in honour of the 
beauty of the succeeding Mrs. Oswald. 

Dweller in yon dungeon dark, 
Hangman of creation, marlv ! 
Who in widow- weeds appears, 
Laden with unhonour'd years, 
Noosing with care a bursting purse, 
Baited ^^'ith many a deadly curse ! 

STPvOPHE. 
View the wather'd beldam's face — 
Can thy keen inspection trace [grace ? 
Aught of humanity's sweet melting 
Kote that eye, 'tis rheum o'erflows, 
Pity's flood there never rose. 
See these hands, ne'er stretch'd to save, 
Hands that took — but never gave. 
K(.'eper of Mammon's iron chest, 
Lo, there she goes, unpitied and 
unblest — [lasting rest ! 

Tuio goes, but not to realms of ever- 

ANTISTROPHE. 

plunderer of armies, lift thine eyes, 
(A Vvhile forbear, ye torturing fiends;) 
Keest thou whose step, unwilling hither 
bends ? [skies ; 

Ko fallen angel, hurl'd from upper 
' i'is thy trusty quondam mate, 
E'oom'd to share thy fiery fate. 
She, tardy, hell ward plies. 

EPODE. 

And are they of no more avail. 

Ten thousand glittering pounds a year ? 

In other worlds can Mammon fail, 

Omnipotent as he is here V 

Oh, bitter mockery of the pompous bier, 

While down the Avretched vital part is 

driven ! [science clear, 

The cave- lodged beggar, with a con- 
Espires in rajjs, unknown, und guH;-. to 

heaven. 



TO JOHN TAYLOR. 

'' The poet," says a correspondent of Cunning, 
ham s, " it seems, during one of his journeys 
over his ten parishes as an exciseman, had 
arrived at Wanlockhead on a winter day, 
when the roads were slippery with ice, and 
Jenny Geddes, his mare, kept her feet with 
difficulty. The blacksmith of the place was 
busied with other pressing matters in tlie 
forge and could not spare time for 'frosting' 
the shoes of the poet's mare, and it is Ukely 
he would have proceeded on his dangerous 
journey, had he not bethought himself of 
propitiating the son of Vulcan with verse. 
He called for pen and ink, wrote these 
verses to John Taylor, a person of influence 
in Wanlockhead ; and when he had done, a 
gentleman of the name of Sloan, who ac- 
companied him, added these words : — ' J. 
Sloan's best compliments to Mr. Taylor, and 
it would be doing him and the Ayrshire 
bard a particular favour, if he would oblige 
them instanter with his agreeable company. 
The road has been so slippery that the riders 
and the brutes were equally in danger of 
getting some of their bones broken. For 
the poet, his life and limbs are of some con- 
sequence to the world ; but for poor Sloan 
it matters very little what may become ol 
him. The whole of this business is to asli 
the favour of getting the horses' shoes 
sharpened.' On the receipt of this, Taylor 
spoke to the smith, the smith flew to his 
tools, sharpened the horses' shoes, and, it is 
recorded, lived thirty years to say he had 
never been ' weel paid but ance, and that 
was by the poet, who paid him in money. 
paid him in drink, and paid him in verse.' '' 

With Pegasus upon a day, 

Apollo weary flying, 
Through frosty hills the journey lay. 

On foot the way was plying. 

Poor slipshod giddy Pegasus 

Was but a sorry walker; 
To Vulcan then Apollo goes, 

To get a frosty caulker.* 

Obliging Vulcan fell to work. 
Threw by his coat and bonnet. 

And did Sol's business in a crack; 
Sol paid him with a sonnet. 

Ye Vulcan's sons of Wanlockhead, 

Pity my sad disaster; 
My Pegasus is poorly shod — 

I'll pay you like my master. 

Robert Bltixs. 

Ramagf.'s, three o'clock. 



* A nail put into a shoe to prevent the foot 
from slipping in frosty weather. 



'OEMS- 



117 



SKETCH; 

IN3CKIBED TO THE RIGHT HON. 
C. J. FOX. 

In a letter to Mrs. Dunlop the poet says, " I 
have a poetic whim in my head, which I at 

B resent' dedicate or rather inscribe, to the 
.ight Hon. Charles James Fox ; but how 
long that fancy may hold, I cannot say. A 
few of the first lines I have just rough- 
skctciied as follows: "— 

How wisdom and folly meet, mix, and 

unite; [and their white; 

How virtue and vice ])iend their blacic 

How genius the illustrious lather of 

fiction, [tradietion — 

Confounds rule and law, reconciles con- 

I .sing: if these mortals, the critics, 

should bustle, [whistle! 

I care not, not I — let the critics go 

But now for a patron, whose name 

and whose glory [story. 

At once may illustrate and honour my 

Thou first of our orators, first of our 

wits; [seem mere lucky hits; 

Yoit whose parts and acquirements 
With knowledge so vast, and with 

judgment so strong, [far wrong; 

No mail with tho half of 'em e'er went 
With passions so potent, and fancies so 

bright, [quite right; — 

No man with the half of 'em e'er went 
A sorry, poor misbegot son of the 

Muses 
For using thy name offers fifty excuses. 

Good Lord, what is man? for as simple 

he looks, [his crooks; 

Do but try to develop his hooks and 
With his depths and his shallows, his 

good and his evil; [the devil. 

All in all he's a problem must puzzle 
On his one ruling passion Sir Popo 

iiugely labours, 
That, like the old Hebrew walking- 

sv»^itcli, eats up its neighbours ; 
Mankind are his show-box — a friend, 

w ould you know him ? 
Pull the string, ruling passion the 

picture will show him. 
What pity, in rearing so beauteous a 

system, [have miss'd him ; 

One trifling particular truth should 
For, spite of his fine theoretic positions. 
Mankind is a science defies definitions. 



Some sort all our qualities each to its 

tribe, [describe : 

And think human nature they truly 

Have you found this, or t'other V there'a 

more in the wind. 
As by one drunken fellow his com- 
rades you '11 find. [the plan, 
But such is the flaw, or the depth of 
In the make of that wonderful creature 
call'd man, [claim, 
N(y two virtues, whatever relation they 
Nor even two different shades of the 
same, [to brother, 
Though like as was ever twin brother 
Possessing the one shall imply you 've 
the other. 

But truce with abstraction, and truce 

with a Muse, [deign to peruse: 

Whose rhymes you '11 perhaps, sir, ne'er 
Will you leave your justings, your jars, 

and your quarrels, [ding laurels ' 
Contending with Billy for proud-nod- 
My much - honour'd patron, believj 

your poor poet. 
Your courage much more than your 

prudence you show it ; 
In vain with Squire Billy for laurela 

you struggle. 
He '11 have them by fair trade, if not, 

he will smuggle ; [ceal 'em. 

Not cabinets even of kings would con- 
He 'd up the back-stairs, and by God 

he would steal 'em. 
Then feats like Squire Billy's you ne'er 

can achieve 'em, [thieve him. 

It is not, outdo him, the task is out- 



VERSES 

ON SEEING A WOUNDED HARE LIMP 
BY ME AVHICH A FELLOW HAD JUST 
SHOT. 

This poem was founded on a real incident. 
James Thomson, a neighbour of the poet's, 
states that having shot at, and wounded i' 
hare, it ran past the poet, who happened to 
be near. '' He cursed me, and said he would 
not mind throwing me into the water ; and 
I'll warrant he could hae done't, though 1 
was both young and strong." 

Inhuman man ! curse on thy barb'rous 

art, [eye ; 

And blasted be thy murder-aiming 

May never pity soothe thee with a 

sigh. 

Nor ever pleasure glad thy cruel heart t 



118 



15UKNS' WORES. 



Go live, poor wanderer of the wood and 

field 1 

The bitter little that of life remains , 

No more the thickening brakes and 

verdant plains [yield. 

To thee shall home, or food, or pastime 

Seek, mangled wretch, some place of 

wonted rest, [bed ! 

No more of rest, but now thy dying 

The sheltering rushes whistling o'er 

thy head, [prest. 

The cold earth with thy bloody bosom 

Oft as by winding Nith, I, musing, 

wait [dawn. 

The sober eve, or hail the cheerful 

I'll miss thee sporting o'er the dewy 

lawn, [thy hapless fate. 

And curse the ruffian's aim, and mourn 



DELIA. 

AN ODE. 

This ode was sent to the Star newspaper with 
the following characteristic letter .- - " Mr 
Printer, — If the productions of a simple 
ploughman can merit a place in the same 
paper with the other favourites of the 
Muses who illuminate the Star with the 
lustre of genius, your insertion of the en- 
closed trifle will be succeeded by future 
communications from yours, etc., 

"■ Robert Bikxs. 

" Ellisu\nd, near Dumfries, May i8, 17S9." 

Fair the face of orient day, 
Fair the tints of opening rose; 
But fairer still my Delia dawns. 
More lovely far her beauty blows. 

Sweet the lark's wild-warbled lay, 
Gweet the tinkling riil to hear; 
But, Delia, more delightful still. 
Steal thine accents on mine ear. 

The flower-enamour'd busy bee, 
The rosy banquet loves to sip; 
Sweet the streamlet's limpid 
To the sun-brown'd Arab's lip 

But, Delia, on thy balmy lips 
Let me, no vagrant insect, rove! 
Oh, let me steal one liquid kiss! 
For, oh! my soul is parch 'd with love! 



ADDRESS TO THE TOOTHACHE. 

WRITTEN "WHEN THE AUTHOR WAS 
GRIEVOUSLY TORMENTED BY THAT 
DISORDER. 

My curse upon the venom'd stang. 
That shoots my tortured gums alang; 
And through my lugs gies mony a 
twang, 

Wi' gnawing vengeance; 
Tearing my nerves wi' bitter pang. 

Like racking engines! 

When fevers burn, or ague freezes, 
Rheumatics gnaw, or cliolic squeezes; 
Our neighbour's sympathy may ease us, 

Wi' pitying moan: 
But thee — thou hell o' a' diseases. 

Aye mocks our groan ! 

AdoAvn my beard the slavers trickle! 
I kick the wee stools o'er the mickle, 
As round the fire the giglets keckle/ 

To see me loup ,- 
While raving mad, I wish a heckle'* 

Were in their doup. 

Of a' tho numerous human dools,^ 
111 hairsts, daft bargains, cutty-stools. 
Or worthy friends raked i' the mools,* 

Sad sight to see ! 
llie tricks o' knaves, or fash o' fools. 

Thou bear'st the gree. 

Wliero'er tliat place be priests ca' hell, 
Whence a' the tones o' misery yell. 
And ranked plagues their numbei-s 
tell. 

In dreadfu' raw, [bell 
Thou, Toothache, surely bear'st the 
Amang them a' ! 

thou grim mischief -making cliiel. 
That gars the notes of discord squeel, 
Till daft mankind aft dance a reel 

In gore a shoe thick. 
Gie a' the faes o' Scotland's weal 

A towmond's^ toothache! 



1 The mirthful children laugh. " Jump. 
3 Troubles. * Grave— earth. ^ Twelve^ 
month's. 

* A frame in which is stuck, sharp ends up- 
permost, from tifty to a hundred steel spikes, 
through which the hemp is drawn to straight- 
en It for manufacturing pui-poses. 



rcEM; 



119 



THE KIRK'S ALARM. 

A SATIRE. 

We quote Lockhan's account o£ the origin of 
the '* Kirlc's Alarm •"—" M'GiU and Dal- 
r>-mpre, the two ministers of the town of Ayr, 
had long been suspected of entertaining 
heterodox opinions on several points, par- 
ticularly the doctrine of original sin and the 
Trinity : and tne former at length published 
'An Essay on the Death ef Jesus Clirist," 
which was considered as demanding the 
notice of th2 Church courts. More than a 
year was spent in the discussions v.-hich 
arose out of this : and at last, Dr. I\rGill was 
fain to acknowledge his errors, and promise 
that he would take an early opportunity o! 
apologising for them to his congregation 
from the pulpit, which promise, however 
he never performed. The gentry of the 
country took, for the most part, the side ot 
ivrC-iU, who was a man of cold, unpopular 
manners, but of unreproached moral char- 
acter, and possessed of some accomplish- 
ments. The balk of the lower orders 
espoused, with far more Icrvid zeal, the 
cause of those who conducted the prosecu- 
tion against this erring doctor. Gavin 
Hamilton, and all persons of his stamp, were, 
of course, on the 'side of IvrGiil— Auld and 
the Mauchline elders with his enemies. 
Robert Aiken, a writer in Ayr, a man >'>* re- 
markable talents, particularly in public 
speaking, had the principal management ot 
M'Gill's cause before the presbytery and the 
synod. He was an intimaic friend ol Ham- 
ilton's, a.nd through him had about this time 
formed an acquaintance which soon ripened 
into a warm friendship with Burns. Burns 
was, therefore, from the beginning, a zeal- 
ous, as in the end he was, perhap5,"the most 
effective, partisan of the side on whicli 
/liken had staked so much of his reputation." 

Orthodox, orthodox, 
Wlia belie ve^in Joliu Knox, 
Let me sound an alarm to your con- 
science — 
There's a heretic blast 
Has been blawn i' the wast, 
riiat what is not sense must be non- 
sense. 

Doctor Mac," Doctor Mac, 

You should stretch on a rack 
To .strike evil doers wi' terror; 

To join faith and sense, 

Upon ony pretence, 
is heretic, damnable error. 

Town of Ayr, town of Ayr, 
It was mad, I declare. 



Dr. M'GiU. 



To meddle wi' niLschief a- brewing ; 

Provost Johnf is still deaf 

To the Church's relief, 
And Orator Bob ^ is its ruin. 

D'rymple mild,^ D'rymple mild. 

Though Yonr heart 's like a child. 
And your life like the new-driven 
snaw ; 

Yet that \\anna save ye, 

Auld Satan must have ye, [twa. 
For preaching that three 's ane and 

Rumble John,[| Rumble John, 
Mount the steps wi' a groan, 

Cry the book is wi' heresy cramm'd ; 
Then lug out your ladle. 
Deal brimstone like adle,' 

And roar every note of the damn'd. 

Simper James,*: Simper James, 
Leave the fair Killie'^ dames, 

There 's a holier chase in your view 
I '11 lay on your head 
That the pack ye '11 soon lead, 

For puppies like you there 's but few. 

Singet Sawney,*'* Singet^ Sawney, 

Are ye herding the penny. 
Unconscious what evil await ? 

W i' a jump, yell and hov/1, 

Alarm every soul, 
For the foul thief is just at your gate. 

Daddy Auld,ff Daddy Auld, 

There 's a tod^ in the fauld, 
A tod meijjle v/aur than the clerk ;:{::{: 

Though ye downa do skaith,^ 

Ye '11 be in at the death, 
And if ye canna bite, ye can bark. 

1 Putrid water. ^ Kilmarnock. ^ Singed. 
* Fox. ^ Harm. 

t John Ballantyne, Esq., provost of Ayr, Vj 
whom the '•* Tv/a Brigs " is dedicated. 

i Mr. Robert Aiken, writer in Ayr, to whcrj 
the " Cotter's Saturday Night ' is inscribed. 
He was agent for Dr. M'Gillin the presbyter)- 
and synod. 

§ The Rev. Dr. William Dalrymple, senior 
minister of the collegiate church of Ayr. 

i; The Rev. John Russell, celebrated in the 
"Holy Fair." 

^ The Rev. James Mackinlay, the hero of 
the " Ordination." 

** The Rev Alexander Moodie,of Riccarton, 
one of the heroes of the "■ Twa Herds." 

tt The Rev. Mi. Auld. of Mauchhne. 

tX The clerk was Mr. Gavin Hamilton, who 
had been a thorn in the side of Mr, Auld. 



130 



BURNS' WORK; 



Davie Bluster,§§ Davie Bluster, 

For a saunt if ye muster, 
Th3 corps is no nice of recruits ; 

Yet to worth let 's be just. 

Royal blood yc miglit boast, 
1 f the ass were the king of the brutes. 

Jamie Goose, |1|| Jamie Goose, 
Ye hae made but toom roose,^ 

In hunting the wicked lieutenant ; 
But the doctor 's your mark, 
For the Lord's haly ark [in 't. 

He has cooper'd and ca'd^ a wrang pin 

Poet Willie.^^Poet Willie, 

Gie the Doctor a volley, [wit; 

Wi' your "Liberty's chain" and your 

O'er Pegasus' side 

Ye ne'er laid a stride. [he . 

Ye but smelt, man, the place where 

Andro Gouk,*** Andro Gouk, 
Ye may slander the book, [tell ye ; 

And the book nane the waur, let me 
Though ye're rich and look big, 
Yet lay by hat and wig, [value. 

And ye'll hae a calf's head o' sma' 

Barr Steenie.fff Barr Steenie, 

What mean ye, what mean ye ? 
If yo'll meddle nae mair wi' the matter, 

Ye may hae some pretence 

To havins'^ and sense, 
Wi' people wha ken ye nae better. 

Irvine side,:}:tt Irvine side, 
Wi' your turkey-cock pride. 

Of manhood but sma' is .your share; 
Ye've the figure, 'tis true, 
Even your faes will allow. 

And your friends they daur grant you 
nae mair. 

Muirland Jock,§§§ Muirland Jock, 
When the Lord makes a rock 

" Empty fame. ' Driven- ^ Good manners. 

§§ Mr. Grant, Ochiltree. 

: ; Mr- Young, Cumnock. 

^•^ The R.ev. Dr. Peebles, of Newton-upon- 
Ayr, the author of an indifferent poem on the 
centenary of the revolution, in which occurred 
::he hne to which the poet alludes. 

**■' Dr. Andrew Mitchell, Monkton, a 
wealthy member of presbytery. 

tt+ Rev. Stephen Young, Barr. 

XXX Rev. Mr. Georsre Smith, Galston. 

11') Mr. John Shepherd, Muirkirk. 



To crush Common Sense for her sins. 

If ill manners were wit, 

There's no mortal so fit 
To confound the poor Doctor at ance. 

Holy Will, 11 II II Holy Will, 
There was wit i' your skull 

When ye pilfer'd the alms o' the poor; 
The timmer is scant, 
When ye're ta'en for a saunt, 

Wha should swing in a rape for an 
hour. 

Calvin's sons, Calvin's sons, 
Seize your spiritual guns, 

Ammunition you never can need 
Your hearts are the stuff 
Will be powther enough, 

And your skulls are storehouses o' lead. 

Poet Burns, Poet Bums, 

Wi' your priest-skelping turns, 

Why desert ye your auld native shire ? 
Your Muse is a gipsy — 
E'en though she were tipsy, 

She could ca' us nae waur than we are. 



THE WHISl 

jurns says : — " As the authentic prose his- 
tory of the 'Whistle' is curious, I shall 
here give it : — In the train of Anne of Den- 
mark, when she came to Scotland with our 
James the Sixth, there came over also a 
banish gentleman of gigantic stature and 
great prowess, and a matchless champion of 
Bacchus. He had a little ebony whistle, 
Avhich at the commencement of the orgies 
he laid on the table, and whoever was the 
last able to blow it, everybody else being 
disabled by the potency of the bottle, was 
to carry off the whistle as a trophy of 
victory. The Dane produced credentials of 
his victories, without a single defeat, at the 
courts of Copenhagen, Stockholm, Moscow, 
Warsaw, and several of the petty courts in 
Germany ; and challenged the Scots Bac- 
chanalians to the alternative of trying his 
prowess, or else of acknowledging their in- 
feriorit3^ After many overthrows on the 
part of the Scots, the Dane was encountered 
by Sir Robert Lawne of Maxwelton, ances- 
tor of the present v^-orthy baronet of that 
name, Vvho, after three days' and three 
nights' hard contest, left the Scandinavian 
under the table, 

And blew on the whistle his requiem shrill. 

Sir Walter, son of Sir Robert before men 



ii;!l William Fisher, elder in Mauchline- 
whom Burns iio often scourged. 



POEMS. 



121 



lioned, afterv/ards lost the whistle to Walter 
Riddel o: Gienriddel, who had married a 
sister of Sir Walter's. On Friday, the i6th 
of October, 17S9, at Friars' Carse, the whis- 
tle was once more contended for, as related 
in the ballad, by the present Sir Robert 
Lawrie of Maxwelton ; Robert Riddel, Esq., 
of Gienriddel, lineal descendant and repre- 
sentative of Walter Riddel, who won the 
whistle, and in whose family it had contin- 
ued ; and Ale.xander Fergusim, Esq., of 
Craigdarroch, likewise dt-heended from the 
great Sir Robert, which last gentleman car- 
ried off the hard-won honours oi the 
field." 
A good deal of doubt was at one time felt as 
to whether Burns was present at the con- 
test for the whistle— Professor Wilson hay- 
ing contended that he was not present: cit- 
ing as evidence a letter to Captain Riddel, 
which will be found in the General Corre- 
spondence. These doubts are now set at 
rest. Captain Riddel, in replying to the 
letter mentioned, invited the poet to be 
present. He answered as follows :— 

'' The king's poor blackguard slave am I, 
And scarce dow spare a minute ; 
But I'll be with you by-and-by, 
Or else the devil's in it 1"— B. 

Mr. Chambers places the matter still further 
beyond doubt by quoting the testimony of 
William Hunter, then a servant at Friars' 
Carse, who was living in 1851, and who dis- 
tinctly remembered that Burns was there, 
and, what was better still, that Burns was 
remarkably temperate during the whole 
evening, and took no part in the debauch. 

I SING of a wliistle, a whistle of wortli, 
I sing of a wliistle, the pride of the 
North, [Scottish king. 

Was brought to the court of our good 
And lon^ with this whistle all Scot- 
land shall ring. 

Old Loda " still rueing the arm or 
Fingal, [ his hall — 

The god of the bottle sends do\vn from 

" This whistle's your challenge — to 
Scotland get o'er, [me more!" 

And drink them to hell, sir, or ne'er see 

Old poets have sung, and old chronicles 
tell, [pions fell; 

What champions ventured, what cham- 

The son of great Loda was conqueror 
still, [shrill, 

And blew on the whistle his requiem 

Till Robert, the lord of the Cairn and 

the Skarr, [in Avar, 

Unmatch'd at the bottle, unconquer'd 

* See Ossian's Caric-thura. — B, 



He drank his poor godsliip as deep as 

the sea, [he. 

No tide of the Baltic e'er drunker than 

Thus Robert, victorious, the trophy 
hasgain'd; [remain'd; 

Which now in his house has for ages 

Till three noble chieftains, and all of 
his blood, 

The jovial contest again have renew'd. 

Three joyous good fellows, with hearts 
clear of flaw: [and lav/ ; 

Craigdarroch, so famous for wit, v»-orth, 

And trusty Gienriddel, so skill'dinoid 
coins: [old wines. 

And gallant Sir Robert, deep-read in 

Craigdarroch began, with a tongue 
smooth as oil, [spoil; 

Desiring Gienriddel to yield up the 

Or else he would muster the heads of 
the clan [was the man. 

iVnd once more, in claret, try which 

" By the gods of the ancients!" Glen- 

riddel replies, 
' ' Before I surrender so glorious a prize, 
I'll conjure the ghost of the great Rorio 

Morel [times o'er." 

And bumper his horn with" him twenty 

Sir Robert, a soldier, no speech Avould 
pretend, [ — or his friend, 

But he ne'er turn'd his back on his foe 

Said, Toss down the whistle, the prize 
of the field, [he'd yield. 

And, knee-deep in claret, he'd die ere 

To the board of Gienriddel our heroes 
repair, [care ; 

So noted for drowning of sorrow and 

But for wine and for vv-elcome not more 
known to fame, [sweet lovely dame. 

Than the sense, wit, and taste, of a 

A bard was selected to witness the 

fray, [day; 

And teil future ages the feats of the 

A bard who detested all sadness and 

spleen, [had been. 

And wish'd that Parnassus a vineyard 

The dinner being over, the claret they 

ply; [of joy; 

And every new cork is a new sprmgoi 

t See Johui^CiD s Tour to the Hebride3,~B, 



12>: 



BURNS' WORKS. 



In tlie bands of old friendship and kin- 
dred so set, [more tliey were wet. 
And the bands grew the tighter the 

Gay pleasure ran riot as bumpers ran 
o'er: [ous a core, 

Bright Phoebus ne'er witness'd so joy- 

And Yow'd that to leave them he was 
quite forlorn, [morn. 

Till Cynthia hinted he'd see thorn next 

Six bottle apiece had well wore out the 
night, [fig^^t. 

When gallant Sir Robert to finisn the 

Turn'd o'er in one bumper a bottle of 
red, [ancestors did. 

And swore 'twas the way that their 

Then worthy Glenriddel, so cautious 
and sage, [wage: 

No longer the warfare, ungodly, would 

A high ruling-elder to wallow in wine! 

He left the foul business to folks less 
divine. 

The gallant Sir Robert fought hard to 
the end; [bumpers contend V 

But who can with Fate and quart- 

Thougli Fate said — A hero shall perish 
in light; [fell the knight. 

So up rose bright Phoebus — and down 

Next up rose our bard, like a prophet 
in drink: [tion shall sink I 

•' Craigdarroch, thou'lt soar when crea- 

But if thou wouldst flourish immortal 
in rhyme, [the sublime! 

Come — one bottle more — and have at 

" Thy line, that have struggled for 

freedom Avitli Bruce, 
Shall heroes and patriots ever produce: 
So thine be the laurel, and mine be the 

bay; [god of day!" 

The field thou hast won, by yon bright 



VERSES 

ON CAPTAIN GEOSE'S PEREGRINATIONS 
THROUGH SCOTLAND, COLLECTING 
THE ANTIQUITIES OF THAT KING- 
DOM. 

Captain Grose, the hero of this poem, author 
of a work on the Antiquities of Scotland, 
was an enthusiastic antiquary, fond of good 
wine and good company. Burns met him 
at the hospitable table of Captain Riddel of 



Friars' Carse. He died in Dublin, of an 
apoplectic fit, in 1791, in the 52d year of his 
age. 

Hear, Land o' Cakes, and brithcr 

Scots, 
Frae Maidenkirk* to Johnny Groat's; 
If there's a hole in a' your coats, 

I rede you tent' it; 
A chiel's amang you takin' notes. 

And, faith, he'll prent it! 

If in your bounds you chance to light 
Upon a fine, fat, fodgeP wight, 
O' stature short, but genius bright, 

That's he, mark wcel — 
And wow ! he has an unco slight 

0' cauk and keel.f 

By some auld, houlet-haunted biggin', t 

Or kirk deserted by its riggin', 

It's ten to ane ye'll find him snug in 

Some eldritch^ part, 
Wi' deils, they say, Lord save's I col- 
leaguin' 

At some black art. 

Ilk ghaist that haunts auld ha' or chau- 

mer. 
Ye gipsy gang that deal in glamour,"* 
And you, deep read in hell's black 

grammar, 

Warlocks and witches; 
Ye'll quake at his conjuring hammer. 



It's tauld he was a sodger bred, 
And ane wad ratlier fa'n than^fled; 
But now he's quat the spurtle-blade 

And dog-skin wallet, 
And ta'en — the antiquarian trade, 

I think they call it. 

He has a fouth^ o' auld nick-nackets, 
Rusty airn caps and jinglin jackets, fe^ 
Wad baud the Lothiansl:hree in tackets 

A towmondguid; [ets, 
And parritch-pats, and auld saut-back- 

Afore the flood. 



- J Heed. 2 piump. s Unholy. * Black art. 
5 Abundance. 

* An inversion of the name of Kirkmaiden, 
in Wigtonshire, the most southerly parish in 
Scotland. 

t Alluding to his powers as a draughtsman. 

X See his ^" Antiquities of Scotland.""— B. 

§ See his " Treatise on Ancient Armour ancj 
Weapons." — B. 



POEMS. 



12/ 



Of Eve's first fire lie lias a cinder; 
Auld Tubal Cain's fire-sliool and fender; 
That which distinguised the gender 

O' Balaam's i^«.-s; 
A broomstick o' the witch o' Endor, 

Weel shod wi' brass. 

Forbye he'll shape you aff, fu' gleg,^ 
The cut of Adam's philabeg: 
The knife that nicket Abel's craig^ 

He'll prove you fully, 
It was a faulding jocteleg, 

Or lang-kail gully. 

But wad ye see him in his glee, 
For meikle glee and fun has he. 
Then set him down, and twa or three 

Guid fellows wi' him. 
And port, O port ! shine thou a v/ee, 

And then yell see him ! 

Now, by the powers o' verse and prose ! 
Thou art adaint}^ chiel, Grose ! — 
Whae'er o' thee shall ill suppose, 

They sair misca' thee; 
I'd take the rascal by the nose. 

Wad sav, Shame fa' thee! 



LINES WRITTEN IN A WRAPPER, 

ENCLOSING A LETTER TO CAPTAIN 
GROSE. 

Burns having undertaken to gather some 
antiquarian and legendary material as to the 
rums m Kyle, in sending them to Captam 
Grose under cov^er to Mr. Cardonnel, a bro- 
ther antiquary, the following verses, in im.i- 
tation of the ancient ballad of '' Sir John 
Malcolm," were enclosed. Cardonnel read 
them everywhere, much to the captain's 
annoyance, and to the amusement ut his 
friends. 

[Len ye ought o' Captain Grose I 

I go and ago. 
If he's amang his friends or foes ? 

Iram, coram, dago. 

Is he south, or is he north ? 

Igo and ago. 
Or drowned in the river Forth ? 

Iram, coram, dago. 

Is he slain by Highlan' bodies? 

Igo and ago, 
And eaten like a wether-haggis ? 

Iram, coram, dago. 



« Full quickly, t Tm^\, 



Is he to Abra'm's bosom gane .' 

Igo and ago, 
Or haudin' Sarah by the wame ? 

Iram, coram, dago. 

Where'er he be, the Lord be near him I 

Igo and ago, 
As for the deil, he daurna steer him ! 

Iram, coram, dago. 

But please transmit the enclosed letter, 

Igo and ago. 
Which will oblige your humble debtor, 

Iram, coram, dago. 

So may ye hae auld stanes in store, 

Igo and ago. 
The very stanes that Adam bore, 

Iram, coram, dago. 

So may ye get in glad possession, 

Igo and ago, 
The coins o' Satan's coronation ! 

Iram, coram, dago. 



SKETCH— NEW YEAR'S DAY, 
[1790.] 

TO MRS. DUNLOP. 

On the original MS. of these lines, the poet 
writes as follows: — " On second thoughts I 
send you this extempore blotted sketch. It 
is just the first random scrawl ; but if you 
think the piece worth while, I shall retouch 
it, and finish it. Though I have no copy of 
it, my memory serves me." 

This day. Time winds the exhausted 

chain. 
To run the twelvemonth's length again; 
I see the old, bald-pated fellow, 
Vv'itU ardent eyes, complexion sallow, 
Adjust the unimpair'd machine, 
To wheel the equal, dull routine. 

The absent lover, minor heir 
In vain assail him with their prayer; 
Df af , as my friend, he sees them press. 
Nor makes the hour one moment less. 
Will you (the Major's* with the 

hounds, 
The happy tenants share his rounds; 
Coila's fair Rachel'sf care to-day, 

* Major, afterwards General, Andrew Dun- 
lop, Mrs. Dunlop's second son. 

t Miss Rachel Dunlop, who afterwards 
jaarried Robert Glasgow, Esq. 



124 



BURNS' WORKS. 



And blooming Keith's :j: engaged with 

Gray) [row — 

From housewife cares a minute bor 

That grandchild's cap will do to-mcr 

row — 
And join with me a-moralising, 
This day's propitious to be wise in. 

First, what did yesternight deliver ? 
" Another year is gone forever!" 
And what is this day's strong sugges- 
tion? [on!" 
"The passing moment's all we rest 
Ilest on — for what ? what do we here ? 
Or why regard the passing year? [lore? 
^Vill Time, amused witli proverb'd 
Add to our date one minute more ? 
A few days may — a few years must — 
Repose us in the silent dust, 
Then is it wise to damp our bliss ? 
Yes — all such reasonings are amiss! 
The voice of Nature loudly cries, 
And many a message from the skies, 
That something in'us never dies: 
That on this frail, uncertain state, 
Hang matters of eternal weight: 
That future life, in worlds unknown. 
Must take its hue from this alone; 
"Whether as heavenly glory bright, 
Or dark as Misery's woful night 

Since, then, my honour'd, first of 

friends. 
On this poor being all depends, 
Let us the important now employ, 
And live as those who never die. 

Though you, with days and honours 

crown'd. 
Witness that filial circle round, 
(A sight, life's sorrows to repulse, 
A sight, pale Envy to convulse). 
Others now claim your chief regard; 
Youi-seli, you wait your bright rev\^ard. 



PROLOGUE, 

SPOKEN AT THE THEATRE, DUMFRIES 
ON NEW year's day EVENING, 

[1790.] 

Bums, writing to his brother Gilbert, says :— 
'"We have gotten a set of very decent 
players here just now: I have seen them an 



% Miss Keith Dunlop, the youngest daughter. 



evening or two. David Campbell, in Ayr. 
wrote to me by the manager of the company, 
a Mr. Sutherland, who is a man of apparent 
worth On New Year's Day I gave iiim ilie 
following prologue, which he spouicd to his 
audience with applause :" — 

No song nor dance I bring from yon 
great city [more's the pity. 

That queens it o'er our taste — the 
Though, by-the-by, abroad why will 
you roam ? [at hoir»<i 

Good sense and taste are natives aJc)i{ 
But not for panegyric 1 appear, 
I come to wish you all a good newycar^ 
Old Father Time deputes me here be. 
fo:'e ye, [story. 

Not for to preach, but tell his simple 
The sage grave ancient cough'd, an( 
bade me say, [day." 

" You're one year older this important 
If wiser, too — he hinted some sugges- 
tion, [the question; 
But 'twould be rude, you know% to ask 
And with a would-be rougish leer and 
wink, [word — " Think!" 
He bade me on you press this one 

Ye sprightly youths, quite fiusli'd with 

hope and spirit, [of merit, 

V*'lio think to storm the world by dint 
To you the dotard has a deal to say, 
In his sly, dry, sententious, pro\erb 

way! [less rattle. 

He bids you mind, amid your thought- 
That the first blow is ever half the 

battle; [to snatch him. 

That though some by the skirl may try 
Yet by the forelock is the hold to catch 

him ; [bearing. 

That whether doing, suffering, or for- 
You may do miracles by persevering. 

Last, though not least in love, ye faith= 
fill fair, [care I 

Angelic forms, high HeaAen's peculiar 
To you old I3ald-pato smoothes his 
wrinkled brow, [port ant Now \ 

And humbly begs you'll mind the im- 
To crown your happiness he asks your 

leave. 
And offers bliss to give and tc receive. 

For our sincere, though haply weak, 

endeavouis, 
With grateful pride we own your 

many favours; 



POEMS. 



isn 



And howsoe'er our tongues may ill re- 
veal it, [it. 
Believe our glowing bosoms truly feel 



TO THE OWL. 

This poem was originally printed, from a MS. 
in the poet's handwriting, by Cromek, who 
threw some doubts on its being written by 
Burns. But as the MS. copy showed occa- 
sional mterlineations in the same hand, 
there can be little doubt, we presume, as to 
its authenticity. 

Sad bird of niglit, what sorrows call 

tliee forth, [night hour ? 

To vent thy plaints thus in the mid- 

Is it some blast that gathers in the 

north, [bower ? 

Threatenmg to nip the verdure of tliy 

Is it, sad owl, that Autumn strips the 
shade, [forlorn ? 

And leaves thee here, unshelter'd and 
Or fear that Winter will thy nest in- 
vade ? [mourn ? 
Or friendless melancholy bids thee 

Shut out, lone bird, from all the 
feather' d train, [ing gloom; 

To tell thy sorrows to the unheed- 
No friend to pity when thou dost com- 
plain, [thy home. 
Grief all thy thought, and solitude 

Sing on, sad mourner ! I will bless thy 

strain, [song: 

And pleased in sorrow listen to thy 

Sing on, sad mourner; to the night 

complain, [along. 

While the lone echo wafts thy notes 

Is beauty less, when down the glowing 

cheek [fall ? 

Sad, piteous tears, in native sorrows 

Less kind the heart when anguish bids 

it break? [call ? 

Less happy he who lists to pity's 

lib. no, sad owl! nor is thy voice less 

sweet, [is there ; 

That sadness tunes it, and that grief 

That Spring's gay notes, unskill'd, thou 

canst repeat; [repair. 

That sorrow bids thee to the gloom 



Nor that the treble songsters of the day 

Are quite estranged, sad bird of 

night ! from thee; [ing spray. 

Nor that the thrush deserts the even- 
When darkness calls thee from thy 



From some old tower, thy melancholy 

dome, [solitudes 

While the gray walls, and desert 

Return each note, responsive to the 

gloom [woods. 

Of ivied coverts and surroundmg 

There hooting, I will list more pleased 

to thee 

Than ever lover to the nightingale; 

Or drooping wretch, oppress'd with 

misery, [tale. 

Lending his ear to some condoling 



VERSES 

ON AN EVENING VIEW OP THE IIUIN3 
OF LINCLUDEN ABBEY.* 

Ye holy walls, that, still sublime. 
Resist the crumbling touch of time; 
How strongly still your form displays 
The piety of ancient days ! 
As through your ruins hoar and gray- 
Ruins yet beauteous in decay — 
The silvery moonbeams trembling fly; 
The forms of ages long gone by 
Crowd thick on Fancy's wondering eye. 
And wake the soul to musings high. 
Even now, as lost in thought profound, 
I view the solemn scene around. 
And, pensive, gaze with wistful eyes, 
The past returns, the present flies; 
Again the dome, in pristine pride. 
Lifts high its roof and arches wide, 
That, knit with curious tracery. 
Each Gothic ornament display. 
The high-arch'd windows, painted fair. 
Show many a saint and martyr there. 
As on their slender forms I gaze, 
Methinks they brighten to a blaze ! 
With noiseless step and taper bright, 
Wliat are yon forms that meet my 
sight ? 



* On the banks of the river Cluden, and at a 
short distance from Dumfries, are the beauti- 
ful ruins of the Abbey of Lincluden, which 
v.-as founded in the 'time of Malcolm, thi 
fourth King- of Scotland, 



136 



BURNS' WORKS. 



Slowly they move, while every eye 
I3 heavenward raised in ecstasy, 
"lis the fair, spotless, vestal train, 
That seek in prayer the midnight fane. 
And, hark ! what more than mortal 

sound 
Of music breathes the pile around ? 
' i'is the soft-chanted choral song, 
Whose tones the echoing aisles prolong; 
Till, thence return'd, they softly stray 
O'er CludLMi's wave, with fond delay; 
I\ow on the rising gale swell high, 
And now in fainting murmurs die; 
The boatmen on Nith's gentle stream. 
That glistens in the pale mc onbeam. 
Suspend their dashing oars to hear 
The holy anthem loud and clear; 
Each worldly thought a while forbear, 
And mutter forth a half-form'd prayer. 
But as I gaze, the vision fails, 
Like frost work touch'd by southern 

gales; 
The altar sinks, the tapers fade, 
And all the splendid scenc'j decay'd. 

In window fair the painted pane 
Ko longer gloAvs with holy stain, 
But through the broken glass the gale 
Blows chilly from the misty vale ; 
j'lie bird of eve flits sullen by, 
l.Ier home these aisles and arches high ! 
The choral hymn, that erst so clear 
Broke softly sweet on Fancy's ear. 
Is drown'd amid the mournful scream 
That breaks the magic of my dream ! 
Roused by the sound, I start and see 
The ruin'd sad reality ! 



PROLOGUE, 

FOB MR. SUTHERLAND'S BENEFIT 

NIGHT, DUMFRIES. 

Thisprolog-ue was accompanied with the fol- 
lowing letter to Mr. Sutherland, the man- 
ag-er of the Dumfries Theatre . — 

*' Monday Alorniiig. 

" I was much disappointed in wanting your 
most agreeable company yesterday- How- 
ever, I heartily pray for good weather next 
Sunday ; and whatever aerial being has the 
guidance of the elements, he may take any 
other half dozen of Sundays he pleases, and 
clothe them with 

Vapours, and clouds, and storms, 

Until he terrify himself 

At combustion of his own raising. 



I shall see you on Wednesday forenoon. In 
the greatest hurry.— R. B." 

What needs this din about the town 

o' Lon'on, [is comia' V 

How this new play and that new s:uig 
Why is outlandish stuff sae meikhi' 

courted ? [imported > 

Does nonsense mend like whisky, avIuu 
Is there nae poet, burning keen 'or 

fame, [hani;.' i 

Will try to gie us sangs and plays at 
For comedy abroad he needna toil, 
A fool and knave are plants of every 

soil , [Greece 

Nor need he hunt as far as Rome and 
To gather matter for a serious piece ; 
There's themes enow in Caledonian 

story, [glory. 

Would show the tragic muse in a' her 

Is there no daring bard will rise and 

tell [less fell ? 

How glorious Wallace stood, how liap- 

Where are the Muses lied that could 

produce 
A drama worthy o' the name o' Bruce ; 
How here, even here, he first un- 
sheath'd the sword, [lord; 

'Gainst mighty England and her guilty 
And after mony a bloody, deathless do- 
ing, [jaws of ruin? 
Wrench'd his dear country from the 
Oh foe a Shakespeare or an Otway 
scene [queen I 
To draw the lovely, hapless Scottish 
Vain all the omnipotence of female 
charms [hellion's arms. 
'Gainst headlong, ruthless, mad Ro- 
She fell, but fell with spirit truly Ro- 
man, [woman: 
To glut the vengeance of a rival 
A woman — though the phrase may 

seem uncivil — 
As able and as cruel as the devil ! 

One Douglas lives in Home's immortal 

page. 
But Douglases were heroes every age : 
And though vour fathers, prodigal of 

life, 
A Douglas followed to the martial stri fe. 
Perhaps if bowls row right, and Right 

succeeds, [leads ! 

Ye yet may follow where a Douglas 

J Much. 



POEMS. 



127 



As ye liae generous done, if a' the 

land [hand ; 

Would take the Muses' servants bvthe 
Not only hear, but patronise, befriend 

them, [commend them; 

And where ye justly can commend, 
And aiblins when they winna stand the 

test, [their best ! 

Wink hard and say the folks hae done 
Would a' the land do this, then I'll be 

caution [tion, 

Ye'll soon hae poets o' the Scottish na- 
Will gar Fame blaw until her trumpet 

crack, [back ! 

And warsle^ Time, and lay him on his 
For us and for our stage should ony 

spier, 2 [this bustle here ?" 

■'* Wlia's aught thae chiels n;i^k3 a' 
My best leg foremost, I'll set up my 

brow, 
We liave the honour to belong to you ! 
We're your ain bairns, e'en guide us 

as ye like, [ye strike. 

But like good mithers, shore^ before 
And gratefu' still I hope ye'll ever find 

us, [ness 

For a' the patronage and meikle kind- 
We've got frae a' professions, sets and 

ranks; [get but thanks. 

God help us ! we're but poor — ye'se 



STANZAS OX THE DUKE OF 

QUEEXSBERRY. 

On being: questioned as to the propriecy of 
satirising people unworthy of his notice, 
-and the Duke of Queensberry being cited as 
un instance, Burns drew out his pencil and 
penned the following bitter lines as his re- 
ply :— 

IIow shall I sing Drumlanrig's Grace — 
Discarded remnant of a race 

Once great in martial story ? 
His forbears' virtues all contrasted — 
The very name of Douglas blasted — 

His that inverted glory. 

Hate, envy, oft the Douglas bore; 
But he has superadded more, 

And sunk them in contempt; 
Follies and crimes have stain'd the 
name; [claim. 

But, Queensberry, thine the virgin 

From aught that's good exempt. 



3 Wrestle. 3 ^gij. 4 Threatsu, 



VERSES TO MY BED. 
Thou bed, in which I first began 
To be that various creature — man / 
And when again the fates decree, 
The place where I must cease to bo;-^ 
When siclvness comes, to whom I fiy, 
To soothe my pain, or close mine eye';— 
When cares surround me where I weep, 
Or lose them all in balmy sleep; — 
When sore with labour whom I court 
And to thy downy breast resort — 
Where, too, ecstatic joys I find, 
When deigns my Delia to be kind — 
And full of love in all her charms. 
Thou givest the fair one to my arms. 
The centre thou, where grief and pain. 
Disease and rest, alternate reign. 
Oh, since within thy little space 
So many various scenes take place; 
Lessons as useful shalt thou teach. 
As sages dictate — churchmen preach; 
And man convinced by thee alone, 
This great important truth shall own : — 
That thin partitions do divide 
The bounds where good and ill reside; 
That nought is perfect here below; 
But bliss still bordering upon woe. 



ELEGY ON PEG NICHOLSON, 

Peg Nicholson, the " good bay mare," be- 
longed to Mr. William Nicol, a fast friend 
of the poet's, and was so named from a 
frantic virago who attempted the life ct 
George HI. The poet enclosed the follow- 
ing verses in a letter to his friend, in 
February, 1790, with along account of the 
deceased mare, which letter will be fouwJ 
in the correspondence of that year. 

Peg Nicholson was a good bay mate 

As ever trode on airn;* 
But now she's floating down the Nitii, 

And past the mouth o' Cairn. 

Peg Nicholson was a good bay mare, 
And rode through thick and thin; 

But now she's floating down the Nith 
And wanting even the skin. 

Peg Nicholson was a good bay mare. 
And ance she bore a priest; 

But now she's floating down the Nith, 
For Solway fish a feast. 

Peg Nicholson was a good bay mare. 
And the priest he rode her sair; [was 

And much oppress'd and bruised she 
As priest- rid cat tle are. 
1 Iron. 



128 



BURNS' WORKS. 



LINES 

^V^RITTEN TO A GENTLEMAN WHO HAD 
SENT HIM A NEWSPAPER, AND OF- 
FERED TO CONTINUE IT FREE OF 
EXPENSE. 

Kind sir, I've read your paper tlirougli. 
And faith, to nie 'twas really new ! [ted? 
How guess'd ye, sir, what maist I wau- 
Yhis niony a day I'vegran'd' andgaun- 

ted^ [in', 

To ken what French mischief was bre w- 
Or what the drumlie Dutch were doin'; 
That vile doup-skelper, Emperor 

Joseph, 
If ^'enus yet had got his nose oiT; 
Or how the coliiesaangic^ works 
Atween the Russians and the Turks; 
Or if the Swede, before he halt, 
Would phiy anither Charles the Tv/alt; 
If Denmark, anybody spak o't; 
Or Poland, wha had now the tack'^ o't; 
How cut-throat Prussian blades were 

hingin' f 
How libbet^ Italy was singin' : 
If Spaniards, Portuguese, or Swiss 
\Vere sayin' or takin' aught amiss : 
Or how our merry lads at hame. 
In Britain's court, kept up the game: 
How royal George, the Lord leuk o'er 

him ! 
Was managing St Stephen s quorum; 
If sleekit' Chatham Will was livin'. 
Or glaikit^ Charlie got his nieve^ in; 
IIow Daddie Burke the plea was cook- 
in', [in';i^ 
If Warren Hastings' neck was yeuk- 
How cesses, stents, and fees were 

rax'd,^^ 
Or if bare a — s yet were tax'd ; 
The news o' princes, dukes, and earls. 
Pimps, sharpers, bawds, and opera 

girls; 
If that daft buckle, Geordie Wales, 
Was threshin' still at hizzies' tails; 
Or if he was grown oughtlins douser,^'^ 
And no a perfect kintra cooser. 
X' this and mair I never heard of ; 
And but for you I might despair'd of. 

^ Groaned. - Yawned. ^ Quarrel. 

4 Lease. ^ Hanging. * Castra'^ed. " Sly. 
• Thoughtless. » Fist. ^° Itching. 

»» Stretched. '^ At all more sjober. 



So gratefu', back your nev>-s I send you, 
And pray, a' guid things may attend 
you ! 

Ellisl^vnd, Monday Morning^ 1790. 



ELEGY ON CAPTAIN MATTHEW 
HENDERSON, 

A GENTLEMAN WHO HELD THE PAT 
ENT FOR HIS HONOURS IMMEDIxVTi: 
LY FROM ALMIGHTY GOD. 

The following note was appended to the 
original MS. of the Elegy :— '' Now that you 
are over wiih the sirens of flattery, the har- a 

pies of corruption, and the furies of ambi ^ 

lion— those infernal deities that, on ail sides 
and in all parties, preside over the villain- 
ous business of politics — permit a rustic 
muse of your acquaintance to do her best to 
sootlfe vou v.itha song. You knew Hender- 
son. I have not flattered his memory." 

In a letter to Dr. Moore, dated February 1791, 
the poet says :— " The Elegy on Captain 
Henderson is a tribute to the memory of a 
man I loved much. Poets have m this the 
same advantage as Roman Caihc.ics ; they 
can be of service to their friends after they 
have passed that bourne where all other 
kindness ceases to be of any avail. Whether, 
after ad, either the one or the other be of 
any real service to the dead is, I fear, very 
problematical ; but I am sure they are high- 
ly gratifying to the living. Captain Hender- 
son was a retired soldier, of agreeable man- 
ners and upright character, who had a lodg- 
ing in Carrubber's Close, Edinburgh, and 
mingled with the best society of the c:iy ; 
he dined regularly at Fortune's Tavern, 
and was a member of the Capillaire Club, 
v;hich was composed of all who inclined to 
the v/itty and the joyous." 

" Should the poor be flattered ?" 

— Shakespeare. 

But now his radiant course is run. 
For Matthew's course was bright ; 

His soul was like the glorious sun, 
A matchless heavenly light ! 

O Death ! thou tyrant fell and bloodyl 
The meikle devil wi' a woodie' 
Ilaurl- thee hame to his black srniddie,* 

O'er hurcheon" hides, 
And like stock-fish come o'er his stud- 
die^ 

Wi' thy auld sides I 

He's gane ! he's gane ! he's frae us 

torn ! 
The ae best fellow e'er was born ! 



1 Halter. 2 Drag. ^ Hedgehog. * Anvil. 

* Smiddie^ a blacksmith's shojD — hence the 
appropriateness of its use in the present in- 
stance. 



>OEMS. 



129 



Thee, Mattliew, Nature's sel shall 
mourn 

By wood and wild, 
Where, haply," Pity strays forlorn, 

Frae man exiled ! 

Ye hills ! near neibors o' the starns,^ 
That proudly cock your cresting cairns! 
Ye cliffs, the haunts of sailing yearns,*^ 

Where Echo slumbers ! 
Come join, ye Nature's sturdiest bairns. 

My wailing numbers ! 

Mourn, ilka grove the cushat kens !'' 
Ye hazelly shaws and briery dens ! 
Ye burnies, wimplin' down your glens, 

Wi' toddlin' din,f 
Or foaming Strang, wi' hasty stens,^ 

Frae lin to lin ! 

!Mourn, little harebells o'er the lea; 
Ye stately foxgloves fair to see; 
Ye woodbines, hanging bonnilie 

In scented bowers; 
Ye roses on your thorny tree. 

The first o' flowers. 

At dawn, when every grassy blade 
Droops with a diamond at its head. 
At even, when beans their fragrance 
shed, 

I' the rustling gale. 
Ye maukins whiddin'^ through the 
glade. 

Come, join my wail. 

Mourn, ye wee songsters o' the wood; 
Ye grouse that crap^*^ the heather bud; 
Ye curlews calling through a clud:^^ 

Ye whistling plover; 
And mourn, ye whirring paitrick^- 
broodl — 

He's gane forever. 

Mourn, sooty coots, and speckled teals; 
Ye fisher herons, watching eels; 
Ye duck and drake, wi' airy wheels 

Circling the lake; 
Ye bitterns, till the quagmire reels, 

Rair :{: for his sake. 



6 Stars. 



^ Eagles. '' Wood-pigeon knows. 
« Bounds. ^ Hares running '" ^ 



-agi . .. 

Hares running. ^° Crop, eat. 
»i Cloud. 12 Partridge. 

t With the noise of one who goes hesitat- 
ingly or insecurely. 

X We can hardly convey the meaning here ; 
but we knov/ of no better v/ord. 



Mourn, clam'iing craiks'^ at close o' 

day, 
'Mang fields o flowering clover gay; 
And when ye wing your annual way 

Frae our cauld shore, 
Tell thae far warlds wha lies in clay. 

Wham we deplore. 

Ye houlets,^"* frae your ivy bower, 
In some auld tree or eldritch'^ tower. 
What time the moon, wi' silent glow- 
er,is 

Sets up her horn. 
Wail througli tlie dreary midnight hour 

Till waukrife^" morn ! 

O rivers, forests, hills, and plains ! 
Oft have ye heard my canty^^ strains: 
But now, what else for me remains 

But tales of woe ? 
And frae my een the drapping rains 

Maun ever flow. 

Mourn, Spring, thou darling of the 

year ! 
Ilk cowslip cup shall kep^^ a tear: 
Thou, Simmer, while each corny spear 

Shoots up its head, 
Thy gay, green, flowery tresses shear 

For him that's dead ! 

Thou, Autumn, wi' thy yellow hair. 
In grief thy sallow mantle tear ! 
Thou, Winter, hurling through the air 

The roaring blast. 
Wide o'er the naked worl-d declare 

The worth we've lost ! 

Mourn him, thou Sun, great source of 

light ! 
Mourn, empress of the silent night ! 
And you, ye twinkling starnies bright. 

My Mattliew mourn ! 
For through your ofl)S he's ta'en his 
flight . 

Ne'er to return. 

O Henderson ! the man — the brother 1 
And art thou gone, and gone forever? 
And hast thou cross'd that unknown 
river, 

Life's dreary bound ? 
Like thee, where shall I find another 

The world around ! 

13 Landrails, i-* Owls, i^ Haunted. " Stare 
IT Wakening, i^ Happy, i^ Catch. 



130 



BURNS' WORKS. 



Go to your sculptured tombs, ye great, 
In a' tiie tinsel trash o' state ! 
But by thy honest turf I'll wait, 

Thou man of worth ! 
And weep the ae best fellow's fate 

E'er lay in earth. 



THE EPITAPH. 

Stop, passenger ! — my story's brief. 
And truth I shall relate, man; 

I tell nae common tale o' grief — 
For Matthew was a great man. 

If thou uncommon merit hast. 
Yet spurn'd at Fortune's door, man, 

A look of pity hither cast — 
For Matthew was a poor man. 

If thou a noble sodger art. 

That passest by this grave, man. 

There moulders here a gallant heart — 
For Matthew was a brave man. 

If thou on men, their works and ways. 
Canst throw uncommon light, man. 

Here lies wha weel had won thy 
praise — 
For Matthew was a bright man. 

If thou at friendship's sacred ca' 
Wad life itself resign, man, 

The sympathetic tear maun fa' — 
For Matthew was a kind man ! 

If thou art stanch without a stain. 
Like the unchanging blue, man. 

This was a kinsman o' thy ain — 
For Mattiiew w^as a true man. 

If thou hast wit, and fun, and fire, 
And ne'er guid \vme did fear, man. 

This was thy billie, dam, and sire — 
For Matthew was a queer man. 

If ony whigglsh whingin' sot, 

To blame poor Mattiiew dare, man. 

May dool and sorrow be his lot ! — 
For Matthew was a rare man. 



TAM O' SHANTER: 

A TALE. 

Captain Grose, in the introduction to his 

Antiquities of Scotland, "says, "To my 

ingejtious friend, Mr. Robert Burns, I have 

been seriously obligated ; ht was not only 



at tiie pains of making out what was most 
worthy of notice in Ayrshire, the country 
honoured by his birth, but he also wrote, 

expressly for this work, the pretty tale 
annexed to Allovvay Church." Tliis pretty 
tale was " Tarn o' Shanter," certainly the 
most popular of all our poet's works. 

It) a letter to Captain Grose, No. CCXXVII. 
oi' ihe General Correspondence, Burns fjives 
tlie legend which formed the groundwork 
oi" the poem: — "On a market dtv in the 
town of Ayr, a farmer from Carr.ck, and 
consequently whose way laid by the very 
gate ct Alloway kirkyard, in order to crosr, 
the river Doon at the old bridge, which \h 
about two or three hundred yards farther en 
than the said gate, had been detained by his 
business, till by the time he reached Allo- 
way it was the wizard hour, between nifjht 
and «norning. Though he was terriiieJ 
with a blaze streaming from the kirk, yet it 
is a well-known fact that to turn back on 
these occasions is running by far the great- 
est risk of mischief, — he prudently advan- 
ced on his road. When he had reached the 
gate of the kirkyard, he was surprised and 
entertained, throvigh the ribs and arches of 
an old Gothic window, which still faces the 
highway, to see a dance of witches merrily 
footing it round their old sooty blackguard 
master, who was keeping them all alive 
with the power of his bagpipe. The farmer, 
stopping his horse to observe them a little, 
could plainly descry the faces of many old 
women of his acquaintance and neighbour- 
hood. How the gentleman was dressed tr^ 
dition does not say, but that the ladies were 
all in their smocks : and one of them happen- 
ing unluckily to have a smock which was 
considerably too short lo answer all the 
purpose of that piece of dress, our farmef 
was so tickled that he involuntarily burst 
out, with a loud laugh, ' Weel luppen. 
Maggie wi' the short sark ! ' and, recollect 
ing himself, instantly spurred his horse to 
the top of his speed. I need not mention 
the universally-known fact that no diaboli- 
cal power can pursue you beyond the 
middle of a running stream. Lucky it was 
for the poor farmer that the river Doon was 
so near, for notwithstanding the speed of his 
horse, which v,-as a good one. against he 
reached the middle of the arch of the bridge, 
and consequently the middle ot the stream, 
the pursuing, vengeful hags, were so close 
at his heels that one of them actually sprung 
to seize him ; but it was too late, nothing 
was on her side of the stream but the horse's 
tail, which immediately^ gave way at her in- 
fernal grip, as if blasted by a stroke of 
lightning ; but the farmer was beyond her 
reach. However, the unsightly, tailless 
condition of the vigorous steed was, to the 
last hour of the noble creature's life, an 
awful warning to the Carrick farmers not to 
stay too late in Ayr markets." 
Douglas Grahame of Shanter, a farmer on the 
Carrick shore, who was in reality the drunk- 
en, careless being the poet depicts him, 
became the hero of the legend, and several 
ludicrous stories current about him were 
woven into it with admirable skill. It is re- 
poited of hira that one market day being in 



POEMS. 



131 



Ayr he had tied his marc by the bridle to a 
ring at the door of a public house, and while 
he was making himself happy with some 
cronies inside, the idle boys of the neigh- 
bourhood pulled all the hair out of the 
mare's tail. This was not noticed untijjthe 
foUowing morning, when, becoming bewil- 
dered as to the cau;e of the accident, he 
could only refer it to the agency of witch- 
craft. It is further related of Grahame that 
when a debauch had been prolonged until 
the dread of the " sulky sullen dame " at 
home rose up before him, he would frequent- 
ly continue drinking rather than face her, 
even aUhough delay would add to the 
terrors of the inevitable home-going. 
The Doem was composed in one day in the 
winter of 1790. Mrs. Burns informed Cro- 
mek that the poet had lingered longer by the 
river side than his wont, and that taking 
the children with her, she went out to join 
him, but perceiving that her presence was 
an interruption to him, she lingered behind 
him : her attention was attracted by his 
wild gesticulations and ungovernable mirth, 
v.'hile he was reciting the passages of the 
poem as they arose in his mind. 

" Of brownyis and of bogilis full is this buke." 
— Gawin Douglas. 

When chapman billies^ leave tlie 

street, 
And droutli^y- neibors ueibors meet, 
As market days are wearin' late, 
And folk begin to tak the gate;'^ 
Vriiile wc sit bousmgat the nappy, ^ 
And gettin' foti and unco happy, 
We think na on the lang Scots miles. 
The mosses, waters, slaps, and stiles,^ 
That lie between us and otir hame, 
Whare sits our sulky sullen dame, 
Gathering her brows like gathering 

storm, 
Nursing her wrath to keep it warm. 

This truth fand honest Tamo' Shanter, 
As ho frae Ayr ae night did canter, 
(Auld Ayr, wham ne'er a town sur- 
passes 
For lionest men and bonny lasses.) 

O Tarn ! hadst thou but been sae w-lse 
As ta'en thy ain wife Kate's advic(3 ! 
She tauld thee weel thou wast a skel 
lum,'' [blellum;' 

A blethering, blustering, drunken 
That frae November till October, 
Ae market day thou wasna sober; 



^ Fellows. 2 Thirsty. ^ Road- ■* Ale. 
^ Breaches in hedges or walls. ^ A worthless 
>ilov/. ■^ A talker of nonsense, a boaster 
and a drunken fool. 



That ilka mclder,'"' wi' the miller 
Thou sat as lang as thou hadst siller;^ 
That every naig^ was ca'd a shoe on, 
The smith and thee gat roaring fou on; 
That at the Lord's house, even on San- 
day, [Monday, 
Thou drank wi' Kirktonf Jean till 
She prophesied that, late or soon. 
Thou wouldst be found deep drown'd 

in Doon ! 
Or catch'd wi' warlocks i' the mirk,'*^ 
By Alloway's auld haunted kirk. 

Ah, gentle dames ! it gars^^ me greet 
To think how mony counsels sweet. 
How mony lengthen'd sage advices, 
The husband frae the wife despises! 

But to our tale- — Ae market night. 
Tarn had got planted unco^^ right, 
Fast by an ingle, '^ bleezing finely, 
Wi' reaming swats, ^^ that drank di- 
vinely; 
And at his elbow Souter Johnny, 
His ancient, trusty, drouthy^^ crony; 
Tarn lo'ed him like a vera brith^r — 
They had been fou for weeks thegither! 
The night they drave on wi' sangs and 

clatter. 
And aye the ale was growing better: 
The landlady and Tarn grew gracious, 
\M' favours secret, sweet, and pre- 
cious; 
The Souter tauld his queerest stories. 
The landlord's laugh was ready chorus: 
The storm without might rair^^ and 

rustle — 
Tam didna mind the storm a whistle. 

Care, mad to see a man sae happy, 
E'en drown'd himsel araang the nappy! 
As bees flee hame wi' lades^'o' treasure. 
The minutes wing'd their way wi' 
pleasure: [glorious. 

Kings may be blest, but Tam was 
O'er a' the ills o' life victorious ! 



8 Money. 9 Horse. i" Dark. "Makes. 
12 Unusually. ^^ pire. i4 Foaming ale. 
16 Thirsty, i" Roar ^^ Loads. 

* Any quantity of corn sent to the mill is 
called a melder. 

t The village where a parish church is situa- 
ted IS usually called the Kirkton (Kirk-town) 
in Scotland. A certain Jean Kennedy, who 
kept a reputable public house in the village of 
Kirkoswald, is here alluded to. 



132 



BURNS' WORKS. 



But pleasures are like poppies spread, 
You seize the flower, its bloom is slied ! 
Or like the siiovviall in the river, 
A moment white — then melts forever; 
Or like the boreulis race, 
That Hit ere you can point their place; 
Or like the rainbow's lovely form. 
Evanishing amid the storm. 
jMae man can tether'*^ time or tide; 
The hour approaches Tarn maun ride, 
That hour, o' night's black arch the 
keystane, [in; 

That dreary hour he mounts his beast 
And sic'^ a nigiit he taks the road in 
As ne'er poor sinner was abroad in. 

The wind blew as 'twad blawn its last; 
The rattling sho\vers rose on the blast, 
The speedy gleams the darkness swal 
low'd; [iow'd 

Loud, deep, and lang, the thunder bel 
That night, a child might understand 
The deil had business on his hand. 

Weel mounted on his gray mare, Meg, 
A better never lifted leg, [mire, 

Tam skelpit-" on through dub and 
Despising wind, and rain, and fire; 
Whiles holding fast his guid blue bon- 
net. 
Whiles crooning-^ o'er some auld Scots 
sonnet; [cares, 

Wliiles glovv-ering'-- round wi' prudent 
Lest bogles-^ catch him unawares. 
Kirk Alloway was drawing nigh, [cry. 
Whare ghaists and houlets-"* nightly 

By this time he was 'cross the foord, 
Whare in the snaw the chapman 

smoor'd ;-^ 
And past the bii'ks and meikle stane 
Whare drunken Charlie brak's neck- 
bane : [cairn-^ 
And through the whins, and by the 
Whare hunters fand the murder'd 

bairn ; 
And near the thorn, aboon tlie well, 
Wliare Mungo's mither hang'd hersel. 
Before him Doon i)0urs a' his floods; 
The doubling stonn roars througli the 

woods ; 
The lightnings flash frae pole to pole; 



^** Tie up. '^ Such. -° Rode with careless 
speed. 21 H'liTiming. '-"- Starins". -^ Spirits. 
^'i Ghosts and owls. 25 Pedlar was sraothcred. 
8*^ Sf.one-heap. 



Near and more near the thunders 3'oil; 

When, glimmering through the groan- 
ing trees, 

Kirk -Alloway seem'd in a bleeze; 

I'ly-ougli ilka bore^'' the beams were 
glancing, [ing. 

And loud resounded mirth and danc- 

Inspiring bold John Barleycorn ! 
What dangers thou canst mak us scorn! 
Wi' tippenny,''** we fear nae evil, 
Wi' usquebae,-^ we'll face the devil !-— 
I'he swat sae ream'd in Tammie's nod- 
dle, =^« 
Fair play, he cared na deils a boddle.^^ 
But Maggie stood right sair astcnisli'd, 
Till, by the heel and hand adn}onish'd, 
She ventured forward on the light, 
And, wow ! Tam saw an unco sight ! 
\^'arlocks and witches in a dance; 
Nae cotillon brent-new^- frae France; 
But hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys, and 

reels. 
Put life and mettle i' their heels .; 
At winnock-bunker,"^"^ i' the east, 
There sat auld Kick, in shape o' beast; 
A towzie tyke,^^ black, grim, and 

large. 
To gie them music was his chai-ge 
He screw'd the pipes, and gart-'^ them 

skirl, ^^ 
Till roof and rafters a' did dirl.-^^ 
Coffins stood round, lilie open presses, 
That shaw'd the dead in their last 

dresses , 
And by some devilish cantrip^*^ slight 
Each in its cauld hand held a light, — 
By which heroic Tam was able. 
To note upon the haly table, 
A liiurderer's banes in gibbet airns,-'^ 
Twa span lang, wee,"^" unchristen'd 

bairns; 
A thief, new-cutted frae a rape. 
Wi' his last gasp his gab^^ did gape; 
Five tomahawks wi' bluid red rusted; 
Five scimitars, wi' murder crusted; 
A garter, which a babe had strangled: 
A knife, a father's throat had mangled. 
Whom his ain son o' life bereft, 



2^ Every hole in the wall, ^a Twopenny ale. 
«9 Whisky. 30 The ale so wroug-ht in Tam- 
mie's head, ^i a small coin. ^2 Rj-and-nevv. 
33 A kind of window seat. ^4 ^ routii dog. 
'° Made. '" Scream, ^t vitrate. -'fpelL 



8» Irons. *° Small. ■»! j.iouth. 



POEMS. 



133 



The gray hairs yet stack to the heft:*'-^ 

Wi' mair o' horrible and awfu', 
Which ev^en to name wad be unlawfu'. 

As Tammie glower'd/^ amazed and 
curious, [ous: 

The mirth and fun grew fast and furi- 
Tiie piper loud and louder blew. 
The dancers quick and quicker flew; 
They reel'd, they set, they cross'd, 

they cleekit, 
Till iika carlin swat and reekit,^ 
And coost^^ her duddies-^^ to the wark, 
And liukef^' at it in h6r sark.-*^ 

>Tow Tam ! O Tam ! had thae been 

queans,'** 
A' plump and strappin' in their teens, 
Their sarks, instead o' creeshie flan- 

nen,^^ [linen !§ 

Been snaw- white seventeen - hunder 
Thir breeks^^ o' mine, my only pair, 
That ance were plush, o' guid blue 

hair, 
I wad hae gien them aff my hurdles, ^^ 
For ae bliiik^^ o' the bonny burdies !^-* 

But wither'd beldams, auld, and droll, 
Rig^voodie^^ hags, wad spean^'' a foal, 
Lowpin' and tiingin' on a cummock,^^ 
I wonder didna turn thy stomach. 

But Tam kenu'd^^ what was what fu' 



brawlie,^'^ 



[wali( 



There was ae winsome wench and 



42 Handle. 43 Stared. "i Till each old 
beldam smoked with sweat. ^5 Stript- ^s 
Clothes. 4' Tripped. «« Shirt. 49 Young 
^irls. 60 Greasv flannel. si These breeches. 
-2 Han:s. ss Look. ^4 Lasses, s^ Gallows- 
v/orthy. ^ewg^n. STjyrnping- and caperinq- 
on a staff. ^^ Knew. o'-* Full well. «" A 
hearty girl and jolly. 

t The following- four lines were, in the 
original MS., in this place :— 

Three lawyers' tongues turn'd inside out, 
Wi' lies seam'd like a beggar's clout :i 
And priests' hearts, rotten, black as muck. 
Lay stinking, vile, in every neuk.^ 

The poet omitted them at the sup-gestion of 
Mr. Tytler of Woodhouselcc. 

I Rags. 2 Corner. 

§ The manufacturers' term for a fine linen 
Woven in .t rci>d of 1700 divisions.— Cromek. 

II Aliji u^&=d.y. 



That night enlisted in the core, 
(Lang after kenn'd on Carrick shore; 
For mony a beast to dead she shot, 
And perish'd mony a bonny boat. 
And shook baith meikle corn and bear^ 
And kept the country side in fear.) 
Her cutty sark.^^ o' Paisley harn, 
That, while a lassie,^'- she had worn. 
In longitude though sorely scanty, 
It was her best, and she was vauntie.^* 

Ah ! little kenn'd thy reverend grannie. 
That sark she coff^^ for her wee Nan- 
nie, [riches,) 
Wi' twa pund Scots, ('twas a' her 
Wad ever graced a dance o' witches ! 

But here my Muse her wing maun 

cour,^5 
Sic flights are far beyond her power; 
To sing how Nannie lap and flang,*^*^ 
(A souple jade" she was and Strang, •^s) 
And how Tam stood, like ane be- 

witch'd. 
And thouglit his very een enrich'd; 
Even Satan glower'd, and fidged fu' 

fain, [and main: 

And hotched'd*'* and blew wi' might 
Till first ae caper, syne'*^ anither, 
Tam tint^* his reason a' thegither. 
And roars out, " Weel done, Cutty > 

sark !" 
And in an instant a' was dark: 
And scarcely had he Maggie rallied, 
When out the hellish legion sallied. 
As bees bizz out wi' angry fyke,'- 
When plundering herds assail their 

byke,''3 
As open pussie's mortal foes, [nose; 
"^Mien, pop ! she starts before their 
As eager runs the market-crowd. 
When "Catch the thief!" resounds 

aloud ; 
So Maggie runs, the witches foUow, 
Wi' mony an eldritch^-^ screed and 

liollow. 

Ah, Tam ! ah, Tam ! thou'lt get thy 

fairin'!"^ 
In hell they'll roast thee like aherrin'! 
In vain thy Kate awaits thy comin' ! 



«J Short shirt. e2 Girl. 63 Proud of it. "^ 
bought. ^^ Lower. ^^ jumped and kicked, 
«• Girl, 68 Strong. «» Hitched, ^o Then. 
'» Lost. "Fuss. •?:' Hive. •?4 Unearthly. 
^^ Deserts. 



134 



BURNS' WORKS. 



Kate soon will be a wofu' woman! 
Now, do tliy speedy utmost, Meg, 
And win the keystane^f of the, brig; 
There at tliem thou thy tail may toss, 
A running stream they darena cross; 
But ere tlie keystane she could make 
The fient^'' a tall she had to shake ! 
For Nannie, far before the rest, 
Hard upon noble Maggie prest. 
And tiew at Tarn wi' furious ettle;'^ 
But little wist'* she Maggie's mettle — 
Ae spring brought off her master hale, 
But left behind her ain gray tail;( 
The carlin claught her by the ruinp. 
And left poor Maggie scarce a stump. 

Now, wha this tale o' truth shall read, 
Ilk^^ man and mother's son, take heed: 
Whane'er to drink you are inclined. 
Or Cutty-sarks run in your mind. 
Think ! ye may buy the joys owre 

dear — 
Remember Tarn o' Shanter's mare. 



ON THE BIRTH OP A POSTHU- 
MOUS CHILD, 

BOPvN IN PECULIAR CIRCUMSTANCES OF 
FAMILY DISTRESS. 

The mother of the child was Miss Susan Dun- 
lop, daughter of Burns' friend, Mrs. Dunlop. 
She had married a French gentleman of 
birth and fortune, named Henri, who died 
prematurely. Some time afterwards, Mrs. 
Henri went to the south of France, where 
she died, leaving her child exposed to all 
the dangers of the revolutionary excesses. 
He was carefully tended by an old domestic 
of the family's, and restored to his friends 
when the tranquillity of the country was 
secured. 

Sweet floweret, pledge o' meiklelove. 
And ward o' mony a prayer; [move. 

What heart o' stane would thou na 
Sae helpless, sweet, and fair ! 

November liirples^ o'er the lea, 
Chill on thy lovely form; 

T6 Ne'er. " Design. "8 Knew. " Each. 
^ Moves slowly. 

^ It is a well-known fact that v/itchcs, or 
any evil spirits, have no power to follow a 
poor wight any farther than the middle of the 
next runnmg stream. It may be proper like- 
wise to mention to the benighted traveller 
that, when he faJls in with dogles^ vviiatever 
danger may be in his going forward, there is 
much more hazard in turning back.— B. 



And gane, alas ! the sheltering tree 
Should shield thee from the storm. 

May He who gives the rain to pour, 
And wings the blast to blaw. 

Protect the frae the driving shower. 
The bitter frost and snaw ! 

May He, the friend of woe and want, 
Who lieals life's various stounds,'^ 

Protect and guard the mother- plant, 
And heal her cruel wounds ! 

But late she flourish'd, rooted fast, 
Fair on the summer's morn: 

Now feebly l)ends she in the blast, 
Unshelter'd and forlorn. 

Blest be thy bloom, thou lovely gem, 
Unscathed by ruffian hand ! 

And from thee many a parent stem 
Arise to deck our land ! 



ELEGY ON MISS BURNET OF 
MONBODDO. 

Miss Burnet was the daughter of the accom- 
plished and eccentric Lord Monboddo. She 
is alluded to in the "Address to Edin- 
burgh," (p. lOI.) 

Fair Burnet strikes th' adoring eye. 
Heaven's beauties on my fancy shine ; 

I see the Sire of Love on high, 
And own His work indeed divine. 

She was one of the most beautiful women 
of her time, and died of consumption in the 
twenty-third year of her age. 

Life ne'er exulted in so ricli a prize 
As Burnet, lovely from her native 

skies ; [blov/. 

Nor envious Death so triumph'd in a 
As tliat which laid th' accomplish'd 

Burnet low. 

Thy form and mind, sweet maid, can I 

forget ? 
In richest ore the brightest jewel set ! 
In thee, high Heaven above was truest 

shov\-n, [best is known. 

As by His noblest work the Godhead 

In vain ye flaunt in summer's pride , ye 

groves; [tlowery shore. 

Thou crystal streamlet with thy 

Ye woodland choir that chant your idle 

loves, 

Ye cease to charm — Eliza is no more! 



Pangs. 



POEMH. 



135 



Ye heathy wastes, immix'd with reedy 

feus; [rushes stored, 

Ye mossy streams, with sedge and 

Ye rugged cliiis, o'erhanging dreary 

To you i fly, ye with my soul accord. 

Princes, whose cumbrous pride was all 

their worth, [liail ? 

Shall venal lays their pompous exit 

And thou, sweet excellence ! forsake 

our earth, [wail? 

And not a Muse in honest grief be- 

We saw thee shine in youth and beau ■ 

ty's pride, [yond the spheres; 

And virtue's light, that beams be- 

But, like the sun eclipsed at morning 

tide, [of tears 

Thou left'st us darkling in a world 

The parent's heart that nestled fond in 

thee, [and care 

That heart how sunk, a prey to grief 

So deckt the woodbme sweet yon aged 

tree; [and bare. 

So from it ravish'd, leaves it bleak 



LAMENT OF MARY QUEEN OF 
SCOTS, ON THE APPROACH OF 
SPRING. 

This poem is said to have been written at the 
instigation of Lady Winifred Maxwell Con- 
stable, daughter of William Maxwell, Earl 
of Nithsdale, who rewarded him with a 
present of a valuable snuff-box, having a 
portrait of Queen Mary on the lid. In a let- 
ter to Graham of Fintry. enclosing a copy of 
" The Lament," the poet says :— '' Whether 
it is that the story of our IVIary Queen of 
Scots has a peculiar effect on the feelings of 
a poet, or whether I have, in the enclosed 
ballad, succeeded beyond my usual poetic 
success, I know not, but it has^ pleased me 
beyond any effort of my Muse for a good 
whue past." 

Now Nature hangs her mantle green 

On every blooming tree. 
And spreads her sheets o' daisies white 

Out o'er the grassy lea; 
Now Phoebus cheers the crystal 
streams, 

And glads the azure skies; 
But nought can glad the weary wight 

That fast in durance lies. 

I^ow lav HiOKfcj wake the merry morn, 
Aloft ou dewy wing; 



The merle, in his noontide bower, 
Makes woodland echoes ring; 

The mavis wild, wi' mony a note,' 
Sings drowsy day to rest; 

In love and freedom thev reioinfi- 
Wi' care or thrali opprest. 

Now blooms the lily by the bank. 

The primrose down the brae; 
The hawthorn's budding in the glen. 

And milk-white is the slae; 
The meanest hind in fair Scotland 

May rove their sweets amang; 
But, I, the queen of a' Scotland, 

Maun lie in prison Strang ! 

I was the queen o' bonny France, 

Where happy I hae been; 
Fii' lightly rise I in the morn. 

As blithe lay dov\^n at e'en 
And I'm tiie sovereign of Scotland, 

And mony a traitor there; 
Yet here I lie in foreign bands, 

And never-ending care. 

But as for thee, thou false woman ! — 

My sister and my fae. 
Grim Vengeance yet shall whet a sword 

That through thy soul shall gae ! 
The weeping blood in woman's breast 

Was never known to thee; [woe 

Nor the balm that draps on wounds of 

Frae woman's pitying ee. 

^ly son ! my son ! may kinder stars 

Upon thy fortune shine ! 
And may those pleasures gild thy reign. 

That ne'er wad blink on mine ! 
God keep thee frae thy mother's faes. 

Or turn their hearts to thee, [friend. 
And where thou meet'st thy mother's 

Remember him for me ! 

Oh ! soon to me may summer suns 

Nae mair light up the morn ! 
Nae mair to me the autumn winds 

W^ave o er the yellow corn ! 
And in the narrow house o' death 

Let winter round me rave; [spring 
And the next flowers that deck the 

Bloom on my peaceful grave ! 



LAMENT FOR JAMES, EARL OF 
GLENCi^TRxr 

The errly death of the Earl of Glencairn 
robbed the poet of an intelligent friend and 



136 



BURNS' WORKS. 



pairon. Burns enclosed the " Lament in a 
lelier to Lady Elizabeth Cunningham, the 
sister of the earl, from which we quote the 
following :—" My heart glows, and shall 
ever glow, with the most grateful sense and 
remembrance of his lordship's goodness. 
The sables ' '.'A i-., J?'f I'C ^ nour to wear 
to his lordship's memory were not the 
' mockery of woe.' Nor shall my gratitude 
perish with me ! If, among my children, 
I shall have a son that has a heart, he shall 
hand it dovvn to his child as a family hon- 
our, and a family debt, that my dearest ex- 
istence 1 owe to the noble house of Glen- 
cairn." 

Tfte wind blew hollow frae tlie hills, 

By fits the sun's departing beam 
Look'd on the fading- yellow woods 

That waved o'er Lugar's winding 
stream 
Beneath a craigy steep, a bard, 

Laden with years and meikle pain, 
In loud lament bewail'd his lord. 

Whom death had all untimely ta'en. 

tie lean'd him to an ancient aik, 

Whose trunk was mouldering down 

with years; [time. 

His locks were bleached white with 

His hoary cheek was wet wi' tears; 
And as he touched his trembling harp, 

And as he tuned his doleful sang, 
The winds lamenting through their 
caves, 

To Echo bore the notes alang; — 

" Ye scatter'd birds that faintly sing 

The reliques of the vernal quire ! 
Ye woods that shed on a' the winds 

The honours of the aged year ! 
A few short months, and glad and gay, 

Again ye'll charm the ear and ee; 
But noclit in all revolving time 

Can gladness bring again to me. 

" I am a bending aged tree, 

That long has stood the wind and 
rain; 
But now has come a cruel blast. 

And my last hold of earth is gane; 
Nae leaf o' mine shall greet the spring, 

Nae simmer sun exalt my bloom; 
But I maun lie before the storm. 

And ithers plant them in my room. 

** I've seen sae mony changefu' years, 
On earth t o^v^ « ct,'"'->o-iv grown; 

1 wander in me ways oi men, 
Alike unlinowiug and unknovv^n; 



Unheard, unpitied, unrelieved, 
I bear alaae my lade o' care, 

For silent, low, on beds of dust. 

Lie a' that would my sorrows share. 

"And last (the sum of a' my griefs !) 

My noble master lies in clay, 
The Hower amang our barons bold. 

His country's pride — his country's 
stay ! 
In weary being now I pine. 

For a' the life of life is dead, 
And hope has le"t my aged ken, 

On forward wing forever tied. 

" Awake thy last sad voice, my harp f 

The voice of woo and wild despair; 
Awake ! resound thy latest lay — 

Then sleep in silence evermair ! 
And thou, my kist, best, only friend, 

That fiUest an untimely tomb, 
Accept this tribute from the bard 

Thou brought from Fortune's mirk- 
est gloom. 

" In Poverty's low barren vale 

Thick mists, obscure, involved me 
round ; 
Though oft I turn'd the wistful eye; 

Xae ray of fame was to be found ; 
Thou found'st me, like the morning 
sun. 

That melts the fogs in limpid air — ■ 
The friendless bard and rustic song 

Became alike thy fostering care. 

' ' Oh ! why has worth ■so short a 
date, 

While villains ripen gray with time? 
Must thou, the noble, generous, 
great. 

Fall in bold m.anhood's hardy prime! 
Why did I live to .see that day ? 

A day to me so full of woe! — 
Oh! had I met the mortal shaft 

Which laid my benefactor low ! 

"The bridegroom may forget the 
bride 

Was made his wedded wife yestreen: 
The monarch may lorget the crown 

That on his head an hour has been; 
The mother may forget the child 

That smiles .sae sweetly on her knee; 
But Til rernembvr thee, (xlencairn, 

And u'th:it thou hast done for mel" 



POEMS. 



[;>7 



LINES 

SENT TO SIR JOHN WHTTEFOOED, 
BART. , OP WHITEFOORD, WITH THE 
FOREGOING POE.M. 

Thou, wlio tliv lionour as thy (xod re- 
verest, [earthly fear'st, 

Who, save thy mind's reproach, nought 
To thee this votive -offering 1 impart, 
The tearful tribute of a broken heart. 
The friend thou valued'st, I the patron 
loved; [approved. 

His worth, liis honour, all the world 
We'll mourn till we too go as he has 

gone, 
-ind tread the dreary path to that dark 
world unlaiown. 



ADDRESS TO THE SHADE OF 
THOMSON, 

ON CROWNING HIS BUST AT EDNA:\I, 
ROXBURGHSHIRE, WITH BAYS. 

The Earl of Buchan invited the poet to be 
present at the coronation of Thomson's 
bust, on Ednam Hill. He could not attend, 
but sent the following '' Address " in- 
stead : — 

While virgin Spring, by Eden's flood. 
Unfolds her tender mantle green, 

Or pranks the sod in frolic mood, 
Or tunes iEolian strains between: 

While Summer with a matron grace. 
Retreats to Dryburgh's cooling shade, 

Yet oft, delighted, stops to trace 
The progress of the spiky blade: 

While Autumn, benefactor kind. 

By Tweed erects his aged head. 
And sees, with self -approving mind, 

Each creature on his bounty fed: 

Willie maniac Winter rages o'er 

The lulls whence classic Yarrow 
flows, 

Rousing the turbid torrent's roar. 
Or sweeping, wild, a waste of snows : 

So long, sweet poet of the year ! 

Shall bloom that wreath thou well 
hast won- 
Wliile Scotia, ^vlth exulting le^tr, 

Proclaiins that Thomson was her son! 



VERSES 

TO JOHN MAXWELL OF TERRAUGHTY, 
ON HIS BIRTHDAY. 

Health to the Maxwells' veteran chief! 
Health, aye unsour'd by care or grief; 
Inspired, I turn'd Fate's sybil leaf 

This natal morn, 
I see thy life is sttilT o' prief,^ 

Scarce quite half Vv'orn. 

This day thou metes threescore eleven. 
And 1 can tell that bounteous Heaven 
(The second sight, ye ken, is given 

To ilka'^ poet) 
On thee a tack o' seven times seven 

Will yet bestow it. 

If envious buckles^ view wi' sorrow 
The lengthen'd days on this blest mor- 
row, 
iSIay Desolation's lang-teeth'd harrow. 

Nine miles an hour. 
Rake them, like Sodom and Gomorrah, 

In brunstane stoure !^ 

But for thy friends, and they are mony, 
Baith honest men and lasses bonny, 
]May couthie^ Fortune, kind and ca|iny. 
In social glee, [ny, 

Wi' mornings blithe and e'enings fun- 
Bless them and thee ! 

Fareweel, auld birkie !^ Lord be near 

ye, 

And then the deil he daurna steer ye: 
Your friends aye love, your faes aye 
fear ye; 

For me, shahie fa' me, 
If neist my heart I dinna wear ye, 

While Bltins they ca' me 1 



THE YOW^ELS: 

A TALE. 

'Twas where the birch and sounding 

thong are plied. 
The noisy domicile of pedant pride; 
Where Ignorance her darkening vapour 

throws, [blows; 

And Cruelty directs the thickening 
Upon a time. Sir Abece the great. 
In all his pedagogic powers elate, 

1 Proof. 2 Even'- ^ Bucks. * Dust. * Lov- 
ing. ^ A lively fellow. 



JW 



BURNS' WORKS. 



His awful chair of state resolves to 

mount, [count. 

And call the trembling Vowels to ac- 

Firsf enter'd A, a grave, broad, solemn 

■"nrrlit,. [sigllt ! 

Bat, ixii ! deform'd, dishonest to the 
His twisted head look'd backward on 
his way, [grunted ai J 

And flagrant from the scourge he 
Reluctant, E stalk'd iu ; with piteous 
race [face ! 

The jostling tears ran down his honest 
That name, that weil-woin name, and 
all his own, [tlnone ! 

Pale he surrenders at the tyrant's 
The pedant stifles keen the Roman 
sound [compound; 

Not all his mongrel diphthongs can 
And next the title following close be- 
hind, [sign'd. 
He to the nameless ghastly wretch as- 

The cobweb'd Gothic dome resounded 

Y! 
In sullen vengeance, I disdain'd reply: 
The pedant swung his felon cudgel 

round, [the ground ! 

And knocked the groaning vowel to 

In rueful apprehension enter'd 0, 
The wailing minstrel of despairing 

woe; [pert. 

The inquisitor of Spain the most ex- 
Might there have learnt new mysteries 

of his art: [ing, U 

So grim, deform'd, with horrors enter- 
His dearest friend and brother scarcely 

knew ! 

As trembling U stood staring all 
aghast, [him fast, 

The pedant in his left hand clutch'd 

In helpless infants' tears he dipp'd his 
right, [his sight. 

Baptized him eu, and kick'd him from 



ADAM A 'S PRAYER. 

The circumstances under which the following 
lines were written were as follows : — The 
servant of a Mauchline innkeeper having 
been too indulgent to one of her master's 
customers, a number of reckless young fel- 
lows, among whom was Adam A , an 

ill-made little fellow, made her "ride the 
i^v^^t, - Aat IS, placed her astride a wood- 
en pole, and carried her through the streets. 



An action being raised against the offend- 
ers, Adam A absconded. While skulk- 
ing about. Burns met him and suggested 
that he needed someone to pray for him : 
"Just do't yourscl. Burns; I know no one 

so til," Adam replied. Adam A 's Prayer 

was the result, 

GuDE pity me, becau.se I'm little, 
For thotigh I am an elf o' mettle, 
And can, like ony wabster's' shuttle,, 

Jink- there or here; [tie.' 
Yet, scarce as lang's a guid kail wliit- 

I'm unco queer. 

And now thou kens our woefu' case. 
For Geordie's jurr- we're in disgrace, 
Because we've staug'd her through the 
place, 

And hurt her spleuchan, 
For which v\^e daurna show our face 
Within the clachan.* 

And now we're dern'd^ in glens and 

hollows, 
And hunted, as was William Wallace, 
Wi' constables, those blackguard fal- 
lows, 

And sodgers baith; 
But Glide preserve us frae the gallows. 
That shamefii' death ! 



Auld, grim, black-bearded Geordie's 

sel, 
Oh, shake him o'er the mouth o' hell. 
There let him hing, and roar, and yell, 

Wi' hideous din. 
And if he offers to rebel. 

Just heave° him in. 

When T)eath comes in, wi' glimmering 
blink, [wink. 

And tips auld drunKen Nansefthe 
May Hornie gie her doup a clink 

Aliint his yett,' 
And fill her up wi' brimstone drink, 

Red, reeking, het. 

There's Jockie and the haveril Jenny,:}: 
Some devils seize them in a hurry. 



1 Weaver's. 2 Dodge, s Knife. •* Village. 
5 Hidden. « pitch. "> Gate. 

* " Jurr" is in the west of Scotland a collo- 
quial term for "journeyman," and is often 
applied to designate a servant of either sex. 

t Geordie's w _ 

$ Geordie's son and daughter. 



POEMS. 



And waff them in the infernal wherry 
Straught through the lake, 

And gie their hides a noble ciuiy, 
Wi' oil of aik. 

As for the jurr, poor wcri^lilcss body, 
She 's got miscliief enough already ; 
Wi' stanged hips, and buttocks bluidy, 

She 's suffer'd sair ; 
But may she wintle in a woodie.'^ 

If she whore mair. 



VERSES TO JOHN RANKINE.* 

Ae day, as Death, that grusome carl, 
Was driving to the tither warl' 
A mixtie-maxtie, motley squad, 
And mony a guilt-bespotted lad ; 
Black gowns of each denomination, 
And thiev^es of every rank and station, 
From him that wears the star and gar- 
ter. 
To him that wintfes' in a halter. 
Ashamed himsel to see the wretches, 
He mutters, glowerin'- at the bitches, 
" By God, I '11 not be seen behint them, 
Nor 'mang the sp'ritual core present 

them. 
Without, at least, ae honest man, 
To grace this damn'd infernal clan." 
By Adamhill a glance he threw, 
"Lord God!" quoth he, "I have it 

now •, 
There 's just the man I want, i' faith !" 
And quickly stoppit Rankine's breath. 



ON SENSIBILITY. 

TO MY DEAR AND MUCH-HONOURED 
FRIEND, SIRS. DUNLOP OF DUNLOP. 

Sensibility, how charming. 

Thou, my friend, canst truly tell ; 

But distress, with horrors arming. 
Thou hast also known too well ! 

Fairest flower, behold the lily. 
Blooming in the sunny ray : 

Let the blast sweep o'er the valley. 
See it prostrate on the clay. 

^ Struggle in a halter. 
' Struggles. 2 Staf^infr. 
* John Rankine ot Adamhill, tne ^'' rough, 
rude, ready-witted Rankine" of the Epistle. 



Hear the woodlark charm the forest, 
Telling o'er his little joys ; 

Hapless bird ! a prey the surest, 
To each pirate of the skies. 

Dearly bought the hidden treasure 
Finer feelings can bestow ; 

Chords that vibrate sweetest pleasure 
Thrill the deepest notes of woe. 



LINES ON FERGUSSON. 

The following lines were inscribed by Bums 
on a blank leaf of a copy of the periodical 
publication entitled the'" Worlds from which 
they have been copied : — 

III - FATED genius ! Heaven - taught 
Fergusson ! [yield a tear. 

What heart that feels and will not 
To think life's sun did set ere well be- 
gun [career. 
To shed its influence on thy bright 
Oh, why should truest worth and ge- 
nius pine - [Woe, 
Beneath the iron grasp of Want and 
While titled knaves and idiot great- 
ness shine [stow I 
In all the splendour Fortane can be- 



THE RIGHTS OF WOMAN, 

AN OCCASIONAL ADDRESS SPOKEN BY 
MISS FONTENELLE ON HER BEN- 
EFIT NIGHT. 

While Europe's eye is fix'd on mighty 
things, [Jdngs ; 

The fate of empires and the fall of 
While quacks of state must each pro- 
duce his plan, [man; 
And even children lisp the rights of 
Amid this mighty fuss, just let me 
mention, [tention. 
The rights of woman merit some at- 

First, in the sexes' intermix'd con- 
nexion, [tection. 
One sacred right of woman is, pro- 
The tender flower that lifts its head, 
elate, [fate. 
Helpless, must fall before the blasts of 
Sunk on the earth, defaced its lovely 
form, , [storm. 
Unless your shelter ward th' impending 



140 



BUliXS' WOKi^S. 



Our second right — but needless liere is 

caution, [ion ; 

To keep tliat right inviolate 's the fasli- 
Each man of sense has it so full before 

him [corum. 

He a cue ueioie ue 'd wrong it — 'tis de- 
There was, indeed, in far less polish'd 

days, [naughty ways ; 

A time, when rough, rude man, had 
Would swagger, swear, get drunk, 

kick up a riot, 
Nay, even thus invade a lady's quiet ! 
Now, thank our stars ! these Gothic 

times are fled ; [well bred ! — 

Now, well-bred men — and ye are all 
Most justly think (and we are much 

the gainers) [manners. 

Such conduct neither spirit, wit, nor 

For right the third, our last, our best, 
our dearest, [the nearest, 

That right to fluttering female hearts 
Which even the rights of kings in low 
prostration [miration! 

Most humbly own — 'tis dear, dear ad- 
In that blest sphere alone we live and 
move ; [love ; 

There taste that life of life — immortal 
Smiles, glances, sighs, tears, fits, flir- 
tations, airs, [dares — 
'Gainst such a host what flinty savage 
When awful Beauty joins with all her 

charms. 
Who is so rash as rise in rebel arms ? 

But truce with kings, and truce Avith 



constitutions. 



[ti 



With bloody armaments and revel u- 
Let majesty your first attention sum- 
mon, 
Ah! ga ira! the majesty of woman! 



ON THE DEATH OF A FAVOURITE 
CHILD. 

The following- lines were composed on the 
death of a daughter, which took place sud- 
denly while the poet was absent from 
home : — 

Oh, sweet be thy sleep in the land of 
the grave, 

Mtt a^"- '".o^ angel forever; [slave, 
jbor ever — on i<o ! let not man' be a 

His hopes from existence to sever. 



Though cold be the clay where thou 

pillow'st thy head,*^ 

In the dark silent mansions of sorrow, 

The spring shall return to thy low nar 

row bed, [row. 

Like the beam of the daystar to-mor- 

The flower-stem shall bloom like thy 

sweet seraph form, [som: 

Ere the spoiler had nipt thee in bios- 

When thou shrunk from the scowl of 

the loud winter storm. 

And nestled thee close to that bosom. 

Oh, still I behold thee, all lovely in 

death. 

Reclined on the lap of thy mother. 

When the tear trickled bright, when 

the short stifled breath, [other. 

Told how dear ye were aye to each 

My child, thou art gone to the home of 

thy rest, [ye, 

Where suftering no longer can hai-na 

Where the songs of the good, where 

the hymns of the blest, 

Through an endless existence shall 

charm thee. 

While he, thy fond parent, must sigh- 
ing sojourn 
Through the dire desert regions of 
sorrow. 
O'er the hope and misfortune of being 
to mourn. 
And siijh for his life's latest morrow. 



TO A KISS. 

HiBiiD seal of soft affections, 
Tenderest pledge of future bliss, 

Dearest tie of young connexions, 
Love's first snowdrop, virgin kiss ! 

Speaking silence, dumb confession, 

Passion's birth, and infant's play, 
Dove-like fondness, chaste concession^ 
Glowing dawn of brighter day. 

Sorrowing joy, adieu's last action, 
When lingering lips no more must 
join, 

Wliat v.^ords can ever speak affection 
So thriliin'? and sincere as thine [ 



POEMS. 



141 



SONNET. 

ON HEARING A THRUSH SING IN* A 
MORNING WALK; WRITTEN JAN. 25, 
1793, THE BIRTHDAY OF THE AU- 
THOR. 

-Sing on, sweet tlirusli, upon the leaf- 
less bough, [strain: 
Sing on, sweet bird, I listen to thy 
See, aged Winter, 'mid his surly 
reign, [brow. 
At thy blrthe carol clears his f urrow'd 
So in'lone Poverty's dominion drear, 
Sits meek Content with light unanx- 
ious heart, [them part, 
Welcomes the rapid moments, bids 
Nor asks if they bring aught to hope or 
fear. 

I thanlc Thee, Author of this opening 

day ! [orient skies ! 

Thou whose bright sun now gilds yon 

Eiclies denied, Thy boon was purer 

joys, [away ! 

What wealth could never give nor take 

Yet come, thou child of Poverty and 

Care ; 
The mite high Heaven bestow'd, that 

mite with thee I'll share. 



IMPROMPTU ON MRS. RIDDEL'S 
BIRTHDAY. 

NOVEMBER 4, 1793. 

Old Winter with his frosty beard 
Thus once to Jove his prayer pref err'd — 
" What have I done, of all the year. 
To bear this hated doom severe ? 
My cheerless suns no pleasure know; 
Night's horrid car drags dreary, slow; 
My dismal months no joys are crown- 
ing, ' [ing. 
But spleeny English, hanging, drown- 

' '■ Now, Jove, for once be mighty civil, 
To counterbalance all this evil; 
Give me, and I've no more to say, 
Give me, Maria's natal-day ! 
That brilliant gift shall so enrich me, 
Spring, Summer, Autumu, caimot 
match me." [sto^-" 

*"Tis done!" says Jove; so ends my 
And Winter once rejoiced in glory. 



EPISTLE FROM ESOPUS TO 
MARIA. 

The Esopus of thisepisile was Williamson, the 
actor; and the Maria to whom it is address- 
pH was Mrs. Riddel— " A lady," says Allan 
cui;.angi..;iin, " whose memory will' be held 
in grateful remembrance, not only for hel 
havmg forgiven the poet for his lampoons, 
• but for her having written a sensible, clear, 
heart-warm account of him when laid in ttie 
grave. Mrs. Riddle was a sincere friend 
and admirer of Burns, who quarrelled wuft 
her on account of some fancied slight. 
Williamson was a member of the dramatic 
company which frequently visited Dumfries. 
He had been a frequent visitor at Mrs. 
Riddel's. While the dramatic company 
were at Whitehaven, the Earl of Lonsdale 
committed them to prison as vagrants. 
Burns had no favour for the Earl of Lons- 
dale, and managed in the epistle to gratify 
his aversion to him, as well as his temporary 
anger with Mrs Riddel. His behaviour 
towards the latter was as discreditable to 
him as Mrs- Riddel's generosity in forgiving 
it was worthy of her goodness and her high 
opinion of his better nature." 

From those drear solitudes and frowsy 
cells, [dwells; 

Where infamy with sad repentance 
Where turnkeys make the jealous mor- 
tal fast, [past; 
And deal from iron hands the spare re- 
Where truant 'prentices, yet young in 
sin, [in; 
Blush at the curious stranger peeping 
Where strumpets, relics of the drunken 
roar, [no more; 
Resolve to drink, nay, half to whore. 
Where tiny thieves, not destined yet to 
swing, [string: 
Beat hemp for others riper for the 
From these dire scenes my wretched 

lines I date. 
To tell Maria her Esopus' fate. 

" Alas ! I feel I am no actor here ! " 
'Tis real hangmen real scotirges beai ! 
Prepare, Maria, for a horrid tale 
Will turn thy very rouge to deadly 

pale; [gipsy poU'd, 

Will make thy hair, though erst from 
By barber woven, and by barber sold. 
Though twisted smooth with Harry's 

nicest care. 
Like hoary bristles to erect and stare. 
The hero of the mimic scene, no more 
I start in Hamlet, in Othello roar; 
?r Lr-gk'j chieftain, 'mid the din of 

arms, ^ [charms; 

In Highland bonnet woo Malvina's 



143 



BURNS' WORKS. 



Whilst saus-culottes stoop up the 

mountain high, 
And steal from me Maria's prying eye. 
Blest Highland bonnet ! once my 

proudest dress. [press. 

Now prouder still, Maria's temples 
I see her wave thy towering j)lLimes 

afar, [war; 

And call each coxcomb to the wordy 
I see her face the first of Ireland's 

sons, [bronze; 

And even out- Irish his Hibernian 
The crafty colonel leaves the tartan'^ 

lines, [shines; 

For other wars, where he a hero 
The hopeful youth, in Scottish senate 

bred, [the head; 

Who owns a Bushby's heart without 
Comes, 'mid a string of coxcombs to 

display 
That mni, mdi, mci, is his way ; 
The shrinldng bard adown an alley 

skulks, [Woolwich hulks: 

And dreads a meeting worse than 
Though there, his heresies in church 
and state [mer's fate; 

Might well award him Muir and Pal- 
Still she undaunted reels and rattles on, 
And dares the public like a noontide 

sun, [stagger 

(What scandal call'd Maria's janty 
The ricket reeling of a crooked swag- 
ger; [venom when 
Whose spleen e'en worse than Burns' 
He dips in gall unmix'd his eager 
"ing line, 



pen, — 



[in 

the 



Who christen'd thus Maria's lyre 
divine ; 

The idiot strum of vanity bemused, 

And even the abuse of poesy abused; 

Who call'd her verse a parish work- 
house, made [or stray 'd ?) 

For motley, foundling fancies, stolen 

A workhouse ! ha, that sound awakes 

my woes, [pose ! 

And pillows on the thorn my rack'd re- 
in durance vile here must 1 wake and 

weep, [steep ! 

And all my frowsy couch in sorrow 
That straw where many a rogue has 

lain of yore, 
And vermiu'd gipsies littered hereta- 

fore. 



Why, Lonsdale, thus thy wrath on va- 
grants pour, [dure'? 
Must earth no rascal save thyself en- 
Must thou alone in guilt immortal 

swpI 1 
Anu make i* vast monopoly of hell ? 
Thou know'sjt the virtues cannot hate 
thee worse; [curse? 

The vices also, must they club their 
Or must no tiny sin to others fall, 
Be(^ause thy guilt's supreme enough 
for all ? 

Maria, send me to thy griefs and 

cares; 
In all of tliese sure thy Esopus shares. 
As thou at all mankind the flag un- 
furls, [hurls? 
Who on my fair one satire's vengeance 
Who calls thee pert, affected, vain co- 
quette, 
A wit in folly, and a fool in wit ? 
Who says that fool alone is not thy due. 
And quotes thy treacheries to prove it 

true ? 
Our force united on thy foes we'll turn. 
And dare the war with all of woman 
born . [and I ? 

For who can write and speak as thou 
My periods that deciphering defy. 
And thy still matchless tongue that 
conquers all reply. 



MONODY ON A LADY FAMED FOR 

HER CAPRICE.* 

How cold is that bosom which folly 
once fired, 
How pale is that cheek where the 
rogue lately glisten'd ! 
How silent that tongue which the 
echoes oft tired, 
How dull is that ear which to flat- 
tery so listen'd ! 

If sorrow and anguish their exit await. 
From friendship and dearest affec- 
tion removed; 
How doubly severe, Eliza, thy fate, 
Thou diedst unv/ept as thou livedst 
unloved. 



* This V.J.4, mother of the poet's splenetic 
attacks on Mrs. Riddel. 



POEMS. 



143 



Loves, Graces, and Virtues, I call not 

on you ; [not a tear 

So sliy,* grave, and distant, ye shed 

But come, all ye offspring of Folly so 

true, [cold bier. 

And flowers let us cull for Eliza's 

We'll searcli through the garden for 

each silly flower, 

We'll roam through the forest for 

each idle weed; 

But chiefly the nettle, so typical, 

shower, [rued the rash deed. 

For none e'er approach'd her but 

We'll sculpture the marble, we'll 

measure the lay; 

Here Vanity strums on her idiot lyre; 

There keen Indignation shall dart on 

her prey, "" [deem from his ire. 

Which spurning Contempt shall re- 



POEM ON PASTORAL POETRY, 

FT AIL, Poesie ! thou nymph reserved ! 
l:\ chase o' thee, what crowds hae 

swerved 
Frae common sense, or sunk ennerved 

'Mang heaps o' clavers;^ 
And och ! owre aft thy joes'^ hae 
starved 

'Mid a' thy favours ! 

Gay, lassie, why thy train amang, 
Wliile loud the trump's heroic clang, 
^ind sock or buskin skelp alang 

To death or marriage; 
Scarce ane has tried the shepherd sang 

But wi' miscarriage? 

Ill Homer's craft Jock Milton thrives; 
[']^(.hylus' pen Will Shakespeare drives; 
Wee Pope, the knurlin,^ till him rives"^ 

Horatiau fame; 
In thy sweet sang, Barbauld, survives 

Even Sappho's flame. 

But thee, Theocritus, wha matches? 
They're no herd's ballats, Maro's 

catches: 
Squire Pope but busks his skinklin^ 
patches 

O' heathen tatters: 
I pass by hunders, nameless wretches, 
That ape their betters. 

^ Nonsense. s Lovers. 3 Dwarfish. 

* Drav/5. 5 Thin or gauzy. 



In this "braw age o' wit and lear. 
Will nane the Shepherd's whistle mair 
Blaw sweetly in its native air 

And rural grace; 
And wi' the far-famed Grecian share 

A rival i)lace ? 

Yes ! there is ane; a Scottish callan — 
There's ane; come forrit, honest xVllan ! ' 
Thou need na jouk^ behint the hallai., 

A chiel sae clever; 
The teeth o' time may gnaw Tantallai:, 

But thou's for ever 1 

Thou paints auld nature to the nines, 
In thy sweet Caledonian lines; [twineii, 
Nae gowden stream through myrtles 

Where Philomel, 
While nightly breezes sweep the vines, 

Her griefs will tell ! 

In gowany glens thy burnie strays. 
Where bonny lasses bleach their claes; 
Or trots by hazelly shaws and braes, 

Wi' hawthorns gray, 
Where blackbirds join the shepherd'a 
lays 

At close o' day. 

Thy rural loves are nature's sel; 

Nae bombast spates o' nonsense swell; 

Nae snap conceits — but that sweet spell 

O' witchin' love; 
That charm that can the strongest quell, 

The sternest move. 



SONNET 

ON THE DEATH OF ROBEHT RIDDEL, 
ESQ., OF GLEN RIDDEL. f 

No more, ye warblers of the wood, no 
more ! [my soul: 

Nor pour your descant, grating, on 
Thou young-eyed Spring, gay in thy 
verdant stole — 
More welcome were to me grim Win- 
ter's wildest roar. 

How can ye charm, ye flowers, with all 
your dyes ? [friend ! 

Ye blow upon the sod that wraps my 
How can I to the tuneful strain at- 
tend? 

« Hide. 

* Allan Ramsay. 

t Robert Riddel, Esq., of Friars' Carse, a 
very worthy gentleman, and one from whoQI 
Burns had received many obligations. 



144 



BURNS' WORKS. 



That strain flows round the untimely 
tomb where Riddel lies ! 

Yes, pour, ye warblers, pour the notes 

of woe ! [his bier: 

And soothe the Virtues weeping o'er 

The Man of Worth, who has not left 

his peer, [low. 

Is in his narrow house, for ever darkly 

Thee, Spring, again with joy shall 

others greet, [meet. 

Me, memory of my loss will only 



LIBERTY : 

A FRAGMENT. 

Writing- to Mrs. Dunlop from Castle-Douglas, 
the poet says :— " I am just going- to trouble 
your critical patience with the first sketch 
of a stanza I have been framing as I passed 
along the road. The subject is Liberty: 
you know, my honoured friend, how dear 
the theme is to me. I design it as an irreg- 
ular ode for General Washington's birth- 
day. After having mentioned the degener- 
acy of other kingdoms, I come to Scotland 
thus :"— 

Thee, Caledonia, thy wild heaths 
among, [sacred song, 

Thee, famed for martial deed and 
To thee I turn with svvimming eyes; 
Where is that soul of freedom tied ? 
immingled with the mighty dead, 
Beneath the hallow'd turf where 
Wallace lies ! 
Hear it not, Wallace, in thy bed of 
death ! 
Ye babbling winds, in silence sweep; 
^ Disturb not ye the hero's sleep, 
Xor give the coAvard secret breath. 
Is this the power in freedom's war 
That wont to bid the battle rage ? 
Behold that eye which shot immortal 
hate, 
Braved usurpation's boldest daring ! 
That arm which, nerved with thunder- 
ing fate, [ing : 
Crush'd the despot's proudest bear- 
One quench'd in darkness, like the 
sinking ^tiar, [powerless age. 
And one the palsied arm of totterinp-, 



His royal visage seam'd with many a 

scar, [form. 

That Caledonian rear'd his martial 



Who led the tyrant-quelling war, 
Where Bannockburn's ensanguined 

flood 
Swell'd with mingling hostile blood, 
Soon Edward's myriads struck with 

deep dismay* [their way. 

And Scotia's troop of brothers win 
(Oh, glorious deed to bay a tyrant's 

band ! '[land I 

Oh, heavenly joy to free our native 
While high their mighty chief pour'd 

on the doubling storm. 



VERSES 

TO MISS GRAHAM OF FINTRY, WITH A 
PRESENT OF SONGS. 

Here, where the Scottish Muse im- 
mortal lives, [bers join'd, 
In sacred strains and tuneful num- 
Accept the gift, though humble he who 
gives ; [mind. 
Rich is the tribute of the grateful 

So may no ruffian feeling in thy breast 

Discordant jar thy bosom - chords 

among ! [rest, 

But Peace attune thy gentle soul to 

Or Love, ecstatic, wake his seraph 

song ! 

Or Pity's notes, in luxury of tears. 
As modest Want the tale of woe re- 
veals ; [endears, 
While conscious Virtue all the strain 
And heaven-born Piety her sanction 
seals. 



THE TREE OF LIBERTY. 

This poem was taken from a MS. in the poet's 
handwritinq^ in the possession of Mr. James 
Duncan, Mosesfield, near Glasgow, and 
was first printed in Mr. Robert Chambers' 
edition of the poet's works, i8j8. 

Heard ye o' tlie tree o' France, 

I watna^ what's the name o't; 
Around it a' the patriots dance, 

Weel Europe kens the fame o't. 
It stands where, ance the Bastile stood, 

A prison built by kings, man, 
When Superstition's hellish brood 

Kept E'iance in leading-strings, man. 



1 Know not. 



POEMS. 



145 



Upo' this tree there grows sic fruit, 

Its virtues a' can tell, man; 
It raises man aboon the brute, 

It makes him ken himsel, man. 
Gif ance the peasant taste a bit, 

He's greater than a lord, man, 
And wi' the beggar shares a mite 

Of a* he can afford^, man. 

This fruit is worth a' Afric's wealth, 

To comfort us 'twas sent, man: 
To gie the sweetest blush o' health, 

And mak us a' content, man. 
It clears the een, it cheers the heart, 

Maks high and low guid friens, man, 
And he wha acts the traitor's part 

It to perdition sends, man. 

My blessings aye attend the chiel- 

Wha pitied (iallia's slaves, man. 
And staw^ a branch, spite o' the deil, 

Frae yont^ the western waves, man. 
Fair Virtue water'd it wi' care. 

And now she sees Avi' pride, man. 
How weel it buds and blossoms there. 

Its branches spreading wide, man. 

Eut vicious folk aye hate to see 

The works o' Virtue thrive, man; 
The courtly vermin's bann'd the tree. 

And grat^ to see it thrive, man; 
King Louis thought to cut it down, 

Vvlien it was nnco^ sma', man; 
For this the watchman cracked his 
crown. 

Cut aff his head and a', man. 

A Vidcked crew syne,'' on a time, 

Did tak a solemn aith, man. 
It ne'er should flourish to its prime, 

I wat^ they pledged their faith, man. 
Awa' they gaed,^ wi' mock parade, 

Like beagles hunting game, man. 
But soon grew weary o' the trade, 

And wish'd they'd been at Lame, 
man. 

For Freedom, standing by the tree. 
Her sons did loudly ca', man: 

She sang a sang o' liberty. 

Which pleased them ane and a', man. 

By her inspired, the new-born race 
Soon drew the avenaino- steel, man; 



5^ Man. 3 Stole. * From beyond. ^ Wept. 
« Very, ^ Then. ^ Know. » Went. 



The hirelings ran — her foes gied^'' 
chase. 
And bang'd^' the despot weel, man. 

Let Britain boast her hardy oak. 

Her poplar and lier pine, man, 
Auld Britain ance could crack her joke, 

And o'er her neighbours shine, man. 
But seek the forest round and round. 

And soon 'twill be agreed, man, 
That sic a tree cannot be found 

'Twixt London and the Tweed, man. 

Vf itliout this tree, alake, this life 

Is but a vale o' woe, man; 
A scene o' sorrow mix'd wi' strife, 

Nae real joys we know, man. 
We labour soon, we labour late, 

'i'j feed the titled knave, man; 
An\l a' the comfort we're to get 

Is that ayont the grave, man. 

Wi' plenty o' sic trees, I trow. 

The Avarld would live in peace, man; 
The sword v/ould help to mak a plough, 

The din o' war wad cease, man. 
Like brethren in a common cause, 

We'd on each other smile, man; 
And equal rights and equal laws 

Wad gladden every isle, man. 

Vv'ae worth the loon'^ wha wadna eat 

Sic halesome dainty cheer, man ; 
I'd gie my shoon frae aff my feet, 

To taste sic fruit, I s wear, man. 
Syne let us pray, auld England may 

Sure plant this far-famed tree, man; 
And blithe v/e'll sing, and hail the day 

That gives us liberty, man. 



TO CHLORIS. 

The Chloris of the following lines, and of sev- 
eral songs of the poet's, was a Mrs. Whelp- 
dale, the beautiful daughter of Mr. William 
Lorimer, farmer of Kemmis Hall, near EUis- 
kuid. Her marriage was unfortunate, for a 
few months after it took place she was sep- 
arated from her husband, whom she did not 
again meet for twenty-three years. 

'Tis Friendship's pledge, my young, 
fair friend. 

Nor thou the gift refuse, 
Nor with unwilling ear attend 

The moralising Muse. 

10 Gave. " Beat, »« Fellow. 



146 



BURNS' WORKS. 



Since thou, in all thy youth and 
charms, 

Must bid the world adieu 
(A world 'gainst peace in constant arms) 

To join the friendly few. 

Since thy gay morn of life o'ercast, 
Chill came the tempest's lower; 

(And ne'er misfortune's eastern blast 
Did nip a fairer tiower.) 

Since life's gay scenes must charm no 
more, 

Still much is left behind; 
Still nobler wealth hast thou in store — 

The comforts of the mind ! 

Thine is the self-approving glow. 
On conscious honour's part: 

And, dearest gift of Heaven below, 
Thine friendship's truest heart. 

The joys refined of sense and taste, 

With every Muse to rove: 
And doubly were the poet blest. 

These joys could he improve. 



VERSES 

ON THE DESTRUCTION OF THE WOODS 

NEAR DRUMLANRIG. 

The Duke of Queensberry, who was no fav- 
ourite of the poet's, and who was deserved- 
ly held in little esteem wherever his charac- 
ter was known, had (we quote from Mr. 
Chambers) ''stripped his domains of Drum- 
lanrig m Dumfriesshire, and Neidpath m 
Peeblesshire, of all the wood fit for being 
cut, in order to enrich the Countess of Yar- 
mouth, whom he supposed to be his daugh- 
ter, and to whom, by a singular piece of 
good fortune on her part, Mr. George Sel- 
wyn, the celebrated wit, also left a fortune, 
under the same, and probably equally mis- 
taken, impression." 

As on the banks o' wandering Nith 

Ae smiling summer morn I stray'd. 
And traced its bonny howes and haughs, 

Where Unties sang and lambkins 
play'd, 
I sat me down upon a craig, 

And drank my fill o' fancy's dream, 
When, from the eddying deep below, 

Uprose the genius of the stream. 

Dark, like the frowning rock, Ins brow, 
And troubled like his wintry wave, 



And deep, as sughs' the boding wind 

Amang his eaves, the sigh he gave— 
"And came ye here, my sou," he 
cried, 
' ' To wander in my birken shade ? • 
To muse some favourite Scottish theme, 
Or sing some favourite Scottish 
maid ! 

" There was a time, it 's nae lang syne,^ 

Ye might liae seen me in my pride. 
When a' my banks sae bravely saw 

Their woody pictures in my tide ; 
When hanging beech and spreading 
elm 

Shaded my stream sae clear and cool; 
And stately oaks their twisted arms 

Threw broad and dark across the 
pool : 

" When glinting through the trees ap- 
pear'd 

The wee white cot aboon the mill. 
And peacefu' rose its ingle reek,^ 

That slowly curl'd up the hill. 
But now the cot is bare and cauld. 

Its branchy shelter 's lost and gane, 
And scarce a stinted birk is left 

To shiver in the blast its lane." 

" Alas !" said I, " what ruefu' chance 

Has twin'd^ ye o' your stately trees ! 
Has laid your rocky bosom bare ? 

Has stripp'd the deeding^ o' your 
braes ! 
Was it the bitter eastern blast. 

That scatters blight in early gprmg? 
Or was 't the wil-fire scorch'd iheir 
boughs. 

Or canker-worm wi' secret sting ?" 

" Nae eastlin blast," the sprite replied; 

" It blew na here sae fierce and fell; 
And on my dry and halesome banks 

Nae canker • worms get leave to 
dwell : 
Man ! cruel man !" the genius sigh'd— 

As through the cliffs he sank him 

down— [trees, 

"The worm that gnaw'd my bonny 

That reptile wears a ducal crown ! ' 



' Sighs, 2 Since. ^ The smoke of its fire. 
Reft. 5 Clothing. 



POEMS. 



147 



ADDRESS 

SPOKEN BY MISS FONTENELLS ON HER 
BENEFIT NIGHT. 

"We have had a brilliant theatre here this 
season," the poet writes to Mrs. Dunlop ; 
" only, as all other business does, it experi- 
ences a siag-nation of trade from the epidem- 
ical complaint of the country — -want of cask. 
I mention our theatre merely to lug m an 
occasional address which I wrote for the 
benefit night of one of the actresses." 

Still anxious to secure your partial 

favour, [than ever, 

And not less anxious, sure, this night 
A Prologue, Epilogue, or some such 

matter, [ing better; 

'Twould vamp my bill, said I, if noth- 
So sought a poet, roosted near the skies. 
Told him I came to feast my curious 

eyes; [printed; 

Said nothing like his works was ever 
And last, my Prologue-business slily 

hinted. [man of rliymes, 

"Ma'am, let me tell you," quoth my 
' ' I know your bent — these are no 

laughing times : 
Can you — but, Miss, I own I have my 

fears — 
Dissolve in pause and sentimental tears ; 
With laden sighs, and solemn-rounded 

sentence, [Repentance; 

Rouse from his sluggish slumbers fell 
Paint Vengeance, as he takes his horrid 

stand, 
Waving on high the desolating brand. 
Calling the storms to bear him o'er a 

guilty land ?" 

I could no more — askance the creature 
eyeing, [for crying ? 

D'ye think, said I, this face was made 

I'll laugh, that's poz — nay, more, the 
world shall know it: [Poet ! 

And so, your servant ! gloomy Master 

Finn as my creed, sirs, 'tis my fix'd be- 
lief. 

That Misery's aaother word for Grief; 

I also think — so may I be a bride ! 

That so much laughter, so much life 
enjoy 'd. 

Thou man of crazy care and ceaseless 

sigh, [eye; 

Still under bleak Misfortune's blasting 

Doom'd to that sorest task of man alive — 



To make three guineas do the work of 

five. [lam witch ! 

Laugh in Misfortune's face — the bed- 
Say you'll be merry, though you can't 

be rich. [love. 

Thou other man of care, the wretch in 
Who long with jiltish arts and airs hast 

strove; [ject. 

Who, as the boughs all temptingly pro- 
Meastired in desperate thought — a 

rope — thy neck — [the deep. 

Or, where the beetling cliff o'erhangs 
Pee rest to meditate the healing leap: 
Wouldst thou be cured, thou silly, 

moping elf, [thyself: 

Laugh at her follies — laugh e'en at 
Learn to despise those frowns now so 

terrific, [specific. 

And love a kinder — that's your grand 

To sum up all, be merry, I advise; 
And as we're merry, may we still be 
wise ! 



TO COLLECTOR MITCHELL. 

The poet died within a few months of writing 
this. But Collector Mitchell, who was a 
sincere friend to him, was not aware of 
his distress at this time. 

Friend of the poet, tried and leal, 
Wlia, wanting thee, might beg or steal; 
Alake ! alake ! the meikle deil 

Wi' a' his witches 
Are at it skelpin'^ jig and reel. 

In my poor i^ouches ! 

I modestly fu' fain wad hint it, 
That one pound one I sairly want it; 
If wi' the liizzie'^ down ye sent it. 

It would be kind; 
And while my heart wi' life-blood 
dunted,^ 

I'd bear't in mind. 

So may the auld year gang^ out moan- 

To see the new come laden, groaning, 
Wi' double plenty o'er the loaning^ 

To thee and thine; 
Domestic peace and comforts crowning 

The hale design. 



1 Dancing. 2 Girl. ^ Throbbed. ■« Go. 
The road leading to rhe farm. 



148 



BURNS' V/ORKS. 



POSTSCRIPT. 

Ye've heard this v/hile how I've been 

licket,« 
And by fell Death was nearly niclvet;'' 
Grim louu ! he gat me by the fecket,^ 

And sair me sheuk; 
But by guid luck I lap a wicket, 

And turn'd a neuk. 

But by that health, I've got a share 
o 't, [o 't, 

And by that life I'm promised mair 
My hale and weel I'll tak a care o 't, 

A teutier^ way; 
Then fareweel folly, hide and hair o' t, 

For ance and aye ! 



TO COLONEL DE PEYSTER.* 
My honour'd colonel, deep I feel 
Your interest in the poet's weel. 
Ah ! now sma' heart hae I to speeV 

The steep Parnassus. 
Surrounded thus by bolus pill 

And potion glasses. 

Oh, what a canty ^ warld were it, 
Would pain, and care, and sickness 

spare it; 
And fortune favour worth and merit 

As they deserve ! 
And aye a rowth^, roast beef and 
claret; 

Syne'* wha wad starve ? 

Daine Life, though fiction out may 
trick her, . [lier; 

And in paste gems and frippery deck 
Oh ! nickering, feeble, and unsicker^ 

I've found her still. 
Aye wavering, like the willow wicker,''' 

'Tween good and ill. 

Then that curst carmagnole, auld Satan, 
Watches, like baudrons^ by a ratton. 
Our sinf u' saul to get a claut*^ on 

WT felon ire; 
Syne whip ! his tail ye'll ne'er cast 
saut^ on — 

He's afF like fire. 

^ Beaten. "^ Cut off, ^ Waistcoal. " More 
careful. 

1 Climb. 2 Happy. 3 Abundance. * Then. 
'Insecure. » Twig. ''Cat. *> Claw. » Salt. 

* Arentz de Peyster, colonel of the Gentle- 
men Volunteers of Dumfries, of which Burns 
was a member. He had made some kind in- 
quiries as to the poet's health. 



Ah, Nick ! ah, Nick ! it is nae fair, 
First showing us the tempting ware. 
Bright wines and bonny lasses rare. 

To put us" daft, i» 
Syne weave, unseen, the spider snare 

O' hell's damn'd waft. 

Poor man, the flee aft bizzes by, 

And aft as chance he comes thee nigh, 

Thy auld damn'd elbow yeuks" wi^ 

joy, 

And hellish pleasure; 
Already in thy fancy's eye, 

Thy sicker treasure. 

Soon, heels-o'er-gowdie !'- in he gangs. 
And, like a sheep -head on a tangs, 
Thy girning^^ laugh enjoys his pangs 

And murdering wrestle. 
As, dangling in the wind, he hangs 

A gibbet's tassel. 

But lest you think I am uncivil, 

To plague you with this draunting^"* 

drivel. 
Abjuring a' intentions evil, 

I quat my pen: 
The Lord preserve us frae the devil t 
Amen ! Amen ! 



TO MISS JESSl' LEWARS, DUM- 
FRIES, 

WITH A PRESENT OF BOOKS. 

Cunningham says :— " Miss Jessy Lewars 
watched over the poet and his little hoi5se- 
hold during his declining days with all the 
affectionate reverence of a daughter. For 
this she has received the silent thanks of 
all who admire the genius of Burns, or look 
with sorrow on his netting sun ; she has re- 
ceived more — the undying thanks of the poet 
himself ; his songs to her honour, and his 
simple gifts of books and verse, will keep 
her name and fame long in the world." 

Thine be the volumes, Jessy, fair, 
And with them take the poet's prayer—^ 
That Fate may in her fairest page, 
With every kmdliest, best presage 
Of future bliss, enrol thy name; 
With native v/orth, and spotless fame, 
And wakeful caution still aware 
Of ill — but chief, man's felon snare. 
All blameless joys on earth we find. 
And all the treasures of the mind — 
These be thy guardian and reward; 
So prays thy faithful friend — the Bard. 

1" Mad. "Itches. 12 Topsy-tui^ey. ^^ Gritt 
ning. 1* Drawling, 



EPISTLES. 



EPISTLE TO JOHN RANKINE 

ENCLOSING SOME POEMS. 

O ROUGH, rude, ready-witted Rankine, 
The wale' o' cocks for fun and drinkin" ! 
There's rnony godly folks are thinkin' 

lour dreams* and tricks 
Will send you, Korah-like, a-siukin', 

Strauglit to auld Nick's. 

Ye liae sae mony cracks and cants, '^ 
And in your wicked, druckeu rants,^ 
Ye mak a devil o' the saunts, 

And fill them fou;-^f 
And then their failings, liaws, and 
wants. 

Are a' seen through. 

Hypocrisy, in mercy spare it ! 

That holy robe, oh, dinna tear it ! [it, 

Spare't for their sakes wha aften wear 

The lads in hlack ! 
But your curst wit, when it comes 
near it, 

Rives't^ aS. their hack. 

Tluuk, wicked sinner, whaye'reskaith- 

iug,*' [claitliing:]: 

It's just the blue-gown badge and 



1 Choice. ^ Stories and tricks. ^ Bouts. 
4 Tipsy. 5 Pulls it. G Injuring. 

* A certain humorous dream of his was then 
maiving a noise in the country-side. — B. 

t A minister or elder, some say Holy Willie, 
had called on Rankine, and had partaken so 
freely of whisky-toddy as to have ended by 
tumbling dead-drunk on the floor. 

i " The allusion here is to a privileged class 
of mendicants well known in Scotland by the 
aamt- ol ' i:J!ue Gowns.' The order vv-as insti- 
luced by James V. of Scotland, the royal 
' Griberlunzie-Man.' " 



0' saunts; tak that, ye lea'e them nae. 
thing 

To ken them by, 
Frae ony unregenerate heathen 

Like you or I. 

I've sent you here some rhyming ware, 
A' that I bargain'd for, and mair; 
Sae, when ye hae an hour to spare, 

I will expect 
Yon sang,§ ye' 11 .sen't wi' cannie care. 

And no neglect. 

Though, faith, sma' heart hae I to 
sing ! [wing ! 

My muse dow'' scarcely spread hep 
I've play'd mysel a bonny spring, 

And danced my fill ! 
I'd better gaen and sair't^ the king. 

At Bunker's Hill, 

'Twas ae night lately, in my fun, 

I gaed a roving wi' the gun, 

And brought a paitrick-' to the grun*, 

A bonny hen, 
And, as the twiliglit was begun. 

Thought nane wad ken.^^ 

The poor wee thing was little hurt; 
I straikit'^ it a wee for sport, [for't; 
Ne'er thmking they wad fash^^ me 

But, diel -ma-care ! 
Somebody tells the poaclier-conrt 

TliG hale affair. 

Some aiild-used hands had ta'en a note, 
That sic a hen had got a shot. 



' Dare » Served. 9 Partridge. »" Kagw, 
Ji Stroked. i' Trouble. 

§ A song he had promised the author.— B. 



loO 



BURNS' WORKS. 



I was suspected for the plot; 

I scorn'd to lie; 
So gat the whistle o' my groat, 

And pay't the fee. 

But, by my gun, o' guns the wale, 
And by my pouther and my hai ! , 
And by my hen, and by her tail, 

I vow and swear ! 
The game shall pay o'er moor and dale, 

For this, neist year. 

As soon's the clocking-time is by. 
And the wee pouts begun to cry, 
Lord, I'se hae sportin' by and by, 

For my gowd guinea. 
Though I should herd the buckskin 
kye 

For't in Virginia. 

Trouth, they had muckle for to blame! 
'Twas neither broken wing nor limb, 
But twa-three draps about the wame 

Scarce through the feathers , 
And baith a yellow George to claim 
And thole their blethers !^^ 

It pits me aye as mad's a hare; 

So I can rhyme nor write nae mair; 

But pennyworths again is fair. 

When time's expedient. 
Meanwhile I am, respected sir, 

Your most obedient. 



EPISTLE TO DAVIE, 

A BROTHER POET. 

January^ 1785. 
David Sillar, to whom this epistle was 
addressed, was a native of Torbolton, a poet 
and scholar. He was for many years a 
schoolmaster at Irvine, and was latterly a 
magistrate of that town. He published a 
volume of poems in the Scottish dialect. 

While v/inds frae aff Ben Lomond 

blaw. 
And bar the doors wi' driving snaw, 

And hing' us owre the ingle, "■^ 
I set me down to pass the time. 
And spin a verse or twa o' rhyme, 

In liamely westlin jingle.^ 
While frosty winds blav/ in the drift, 

Ben to the chimla lug.^ 



13 Nonsense. 
1 Hang. 2 Fire. 3 Homely 

west country dialect. * Chimney comer. 



I grudge a wee the great folk's gift. 
That live sae bien"* and snug; 
I tent'' less, and want less 

Their roomy fire-side; 
But hanker and canker 
To see their cursed pride. 

It's hardly in a body's power 
To keep at times frae being sour, 
To see how things are shared; 
How best o' chiels' are whiles in want, 
While coofs** on countless thousandg 
rant,^ 
And ken na how to wair't;'*^ 
But, Davie, lad, ne'er fash'^ your head, 

Though we hae little gear, '"•^ 
We're fit to win our daily bread. 
As lang's we're hale and tier:''' 
" Mair spier na, nor feer na,"''* 
Auld age ne'er mind a feg,^^ 
The last o't, the warst o't, 
Is only but to beg. 

To lie in kilns and barns at e'en, [thin, 
When banes are crazed, and bluid is 

Is doubtless great distress ! 
Yet then content could make us blest; 
Even then, sometimes, we'd snatch a 
taste 
Of truest happiness. 
The honest heart, that's free frae a' 

Intended fraud or guile. 
However Fortune kick the ba', 
Has aye some cause to smile: 
And mind still, you'll find still, 

A comfort this nae sma'; 
Nae mair then, we'll care then, 
Nae farther can we fa. ' 

What though like commoners of air. 
We wander out we know not where. 

But either house or hall ! [woods, 

Yet nature's charms — the hills and 

The sweeping vales, and foaming 

floods — 

Are free alike to all. 

In days when daisies deck the ground, 

And blackbirds whistle clear, 
With honest joy our hearts will bound 
To see the coming year: 
On braes, when we please then, 
We'll sit and sowth^^ a tune: 



6 Comfortable. « Heed. "^ Men. ^ Fools. 
^ Live extravagantly. 1° Spend it. 11 Trouble, 
12 Goods or wealth. ^^ Whole and sound. 

"More ask not, nor fear not. ^^Fig. ^'Whistle- 



EPISTLES. 



151 



Syne rhyme till't, we'll time till't, 
And srng't when we hae dune. 

It's no in titles nor in rank: 

It's no in wealth like Lon'on bank 

To purchase peace and rest: 
Its no in making m tickle mair;''' 
It's no in books, it's no in lear;^^ 

To make us truly blest; 
If happiness hae not her seat 

And centre in the breast, 
We may be wise, or rich, or great, 
But never can be blest . 

Nae treasures, nor pleasures. 
Could make us happy lang: 
The heart aye's the part aye 
That makes us right or wrang 

Think ye that sic'^ as you and I, [dry, 
\Vlia drudge and drive through wet and 

Wi' never-ceasing toil; 
Think ye, are we less blest than they 
^Vha scarcely teut-o ^^^ [^ their way, 

As liardly worth their while ? 

Alas ! hov/ aft in haughty mood. 

God's creatures they oppress ! 

Oi- else, neglecting a' that's guid. 

They riot in excess ! 

Baith careless and fearless 
Of either heaven or hell ! 
Esteeming and deeming 
It's a' an idle tale ! 

Tlien let us cheerfu' acquiesce; 
iNor make our scanty pleasures less. 

By pining at our state; 
And, even should misfortunes come, 
1 here wha sit hae met wi' some, 

An's thankfu' for them yet. 
They gie the wit of age to youth; 

They let us ken oursel ; 
They make us see the naked truth, 
Tiie veal guid and ill. 

Though losses and crosses 
Be lessons right severe, 
There's wit there, yeTl get there, 
Ye'li find nae other where. 

But tent me, Davie, ace o' hearts ! [tes, 
(To say aught less wad wrang the car- 

And flattery I detest,) 
This life has joys for you and I; 
Arid joys that riches ne'er could buy. 

Aud joys the very best. 



'"( Much more, is Leaminsr. ^^ Such. 20 Heed. 



There's a' the pleasures o' the heart, 

The lover and the frien'; 
Ye hae your Meg,'^'' your dearest part, 
And 1 my darling Jean ! 

It warms me, it charms me. 
To mention but her name: 
It heats me, it beets me. 
And sets me a' on flame ! 

Oh, all ye powers who rule above ! 
O Thou, whose very self art }jove ! 

Thou know'st my words sincere ! 
The life-blood streaming through mj 

heart. 
Or my more dear immortal part, 

Is not more fondly dear ! 
When heart-corroding care and grief 

Deprive my soul of rest, 
Her dear idea brings relief 
And solace to my breast. 
Thou Being, all-seeing. 

Oh, hear my fervent prayei* I 
Still take her and make her 
Thy most peculiar care ! 

All hail ! ye tender feelings dear ! 
The smile of love, the friendly tear. 

The sympathetic glow ! 
Long since, this world's thorny ways 
Had number'd out my weary days, 

Had it not been for you ! 
Fate still has blest me with a friend. 

In every care and ill ; 
And oft a more endearing band, 
A tie more tender still. 
It lightens, it brightens 
The tenebrific scene. 
To meet with, aud greet with 
My Davie or my Jean ! 

Oh, how that name inspires my style ! 
The words come skelpin',-^ rank and 

Amaist-"- before I ken I^'^ [file, 

The ready measure rins as fine 
As Phoebus and the famous Nme 

Were glowerin' owre my pen. 
My spaviet"^^ Pegasus will limp, 

Till ance he's fairly het, [jimp/'"^ 
And then he'll hilch,^^ and stilt,-^'^ and 

And rin an unco fit. 



21 Dancing-. ^^ Almost. 23 Know. 24 Spa- 
vined. 25 Hobble. 26 Hah. 27jump 

* Sillar's flame was a lass of the name of 
Margaret Orr, who had charge of the children 
of Mrs. Stewart of Stair. It was not the for= 
tune of '' Meg " to become Mrs. Sillar, 



153 



FUKXS' WORKS. 



But lest tlit'zi, the beast then, 
Should rue"'^* this hasty ride, 

I'll light now, and dight-" now 
His sweaty, wizen'd-^" ^lide. 



EPISTLE TO JOHN LAPRAIK, 

AN OLD SCOTTISH BARD. 

April h 1785. 

While briers and woodbines budding 

green, 
And paitricks^ scraichin- loud at e'en, 
And morning poussie^ whiddin seen. 

Inspire my Muse, 
This freedom in an unknown frien' 

I pray excuse. 

On Fasten-e'en we had a rockin',* 

To ca' the crack^ and weave our 

stockin' ; 
And there was muckle^ fun and jokin', 

Ye needna doubt; 
At length we had a hearty yokin''' 

At sang about. 

There was ae sang, amang the rest, 
Aboon them a' it pleased me best, 
That some kind husband had addrest 

To some sweet wife: 
It thirl'd the heart -strings through the 
))reast, 

A' to the life, f 

I've scarce heard ought described sae 

weel, 
What generous manly bosoms feel; 
Thought I, "Can this be Pope, or 
Steele, 

Or Beattie's wark ? " 
They tauld me 'twas an odd kind chieP 
About Muirkirk. 

It pat me fidgin-fain^ to hear't, 
And sae about him there I spiert ;^ 



•^^ Repent. 29 Wipe, so Withered. 

' Partridges. ^ Screaming. ^ The hare. 
« To drive the talk. & Much. « Bout. ^ Man. 
^ Mac'.c me fidget with desire. * Inquired. 

* In former times young women were wont 
to meet together, each having her distaf? or 
rock for the purpose of .spinning while the 
song and the gossip went rovu^d. 

+ This song is entitled, '* When I upon thy 
bosom Icuxu" 



Then a' that kent'" him round declared 

He had ingine;" 
That nane excell'd it, few cam near't, 

It was sae fine. 

That, set him to a pint of ale, 

And either douce''^ or merry tale, 

Or rhymes and sangs he'd made liimsel, 

Or witty catches ■ 
'Tween Inverness and Teviotdale 

lie had few matches. 

Then up I gat, and swore an aitli,'^ 
Though I should pawn my pieugh and 

graith''* 
Or die a cadger pownie's death. 

At some dike back, 
iV pint and gill I'd gie them baith 

To hear you crack. 

But, first and foremost, I should tell, 
Amaist as soon as I could spell, 
1 to the crambo-jingle'^ fell, 

Tliough rude and rough; 
Yet crooning'*^ to a body's sel 

Does weel enough. 

I am nae poet, in a sense, 

But just a rhymer, like by chance. 

And liae to learning nae pretence. 

Yet what the matter? 
Whene'er my Muse does on me glance, 

I jingle at her. 

Your critic folk my cock their nose, 
And say, "How can you e'er propose, 
You, wha ken hardly verse frae prose. 

To mak a sang ? " 
But, by your leaves, my learned foes, 

Ye're maybe wrang. 

What's a' your jargon o' your schools, 
Your Latin names for horns a ad stools; 
If honest nature made you fools, 

What sairs }our grammars? 
Ye'd better ta'en up spades and 
shools, 

Or knappin' -hammers. 

A set o' dull, conceited hashes," 
Confuse their brains in college classes! 
They gang in stirks,'^ and come out 
asses, 

Plain tnith to speak; 

10 Knew. " Grnius or genialitv, '-Sober 
13 Oath. »4 Tackle. '^ Doggerel verses. 

16 Humming. " Clocliheads. i « Year-old catde. 



EPISTLES. 



135 



And syne^^ tliev think to climb Par- 
nassus 

By dint o' Greek ! 

Gie mo ae spark o' Nature's fire ! 
That's a' the learning I desire, 
Then, though I drudge through dub 
and mire 

At pleugh or cart. 
My Muse, though hamely in attire. 

May touch the heart. 

Oh for a spunk o' Allan's-*^ glee, 

Or Fergusson's, the bauld and slee,'^i 

Or bright Lapraik's, my friend to be. 

If I can hit 'it ! 
That would be lear"^- enough for me, 

If I could get it ! 

Now, sir, if ye hae friends enow, 
Though real friends I b'lieve are few, 
Yet, if your catalogue be fu', 

I'se no insist, 
But gif ye want ae friend that's true, 

I'm on your list. 

I winna-^' blaw about mysei; 

As ill I like my faults to tell; 

But friends and folk that wish me well. 

They sometimes roose-^ me ; 
Though I maun'-^ own, as mony still 

As far abuse me. 

There's ae wee faut'^'' they whiles lay 

to me, 
I like the lasses — Gude forgie me ! 
For mony a plack they wheedle frae 
nife. 

At dance or fair; 
Maybe some ither thing they gie me, 
They weel can spare. 

But Mauchline race, or Mauchline fair, 
I should be proud to meet you there; 
We'se gie ae night's discharge to Care, 

If we forgather, 
And hae a swap"'' o' rhymin' ware 

Wi' ane anither. 

The four-gill chap-^ we'se gar^'^ him 
Clatter, 



19 Then. 20 Allan Ramsay. 21 siv. 
22 Learning. 23 will not. 24 Praise. 25 Must 
26 Small fault. 27 An exchange. 28 Stoup. 
29 Make. 



And kirsen'*^ him wi' reekin' water; 
Syne we'll sit down and tak our whit- 
ter,2' 

To cheer our heart; 
And faith, we'se be accuaiuted better 

Before we part. 

There's naething like the honest nap° 



py 



13-2 



Whar'lP^ ye e'er see men sae happy. 
Or women sonsie, saft, and sappy^^' 

'Tween morn and morn, 
As them wha like to taste the drappy^^ 

In glass or horn ! 

I've seen me dais't"^ upon a time, 
I scarce could wink, or see a styme;-^^ 
Just ae half-mutchkin does me prime. 

Aught less is little, 
Then ba,ck I rattle on the rhyme. 

As gleg's a whittle !^^ 

Awa' ye selfish war'ly race, [grace, 
Wha think that havins,^^ sense, and 
E'en love and friendship, should give 
place 

To catch-the-plack !«> 
I diuna^^ like to see your face, 

Nor hear your crack. '^^ 

But ye whom social pleasure charms, 
Whose hearts the tide of kindness 

v.'arms, 
AYlio hold your being on the terms, 

" Each aid the others," 
Come to my bowl, come to my arms. 

My friends, my brothers. 

But to conclude my long epistle. 
As my auld pen's worn to the grissle; 
Twa lines frae vou would gar me fis- 
sle,-i3 

Who am, most fervent. 
While I can either sing or whissle. 

Your friend and servant. 



SECOND EPISTLE TO LAPRAIK. 

April IT. ^ 1785. 

While new-ca'd kye rowte^ at the 

stake. 
And pownies reeJc- in pleugh or braik,'* 



30 Christen. ^i Hearty draught. ^2 Ale. 
33 Where will. ^^ Comely. ^s Smalldrop. 
^'^ Stupid. 3^ See in the least, se as keen as 
a knife. ^9 Decorum, ^o To seek after 
money, ^i Dq not. ^2 Talk. "^^ Fidget. 

1 Driven cows low. 2 Smoke. ^ Harrow. 



154 



BURNS" WORKS. 



This hour on e'enin's edge I take, 
To own I'm debtor 

To honest-hearted, auld Lapraik, 
For his kind letter. 

Forjesket sair,'* wi' weary legs, 
Rattlin' the corn out-owre the rigs. 
Or dealing through ainang tlie naigs 

Their ten-hours' bite, 
My awkward Muse sair pleads and 
begs 

I wouldna write. 

The tapetless ramfeezled hizzie,^ 
She's saft at best, and something lazy, 
Quo' she, * * Ye ken, we've been sae 
busy, 

This month, and mair, 
That, trouth, my head is grown right 
dizzy. 

And something sair. " 

Her do^^iT ^ excuses pat me mad : 
"Conscience," says I, "ye thowless 

jadP 
I'll write, and that a hearty blaud,*^ 

This vera night; 
So dinna ye affront your trade, 

But rhyme it right. 

' ' Shall bauld Lapraik, the king o' 

hearts, 
Though mankind were a pack o' cartes, 
Roose you sae w^eel for your deserts, 

In terms sae friendly, 
Yet ye'll neglect to shaw your parts. 

And thank him kindly ? " 

Sae I gat paper in a blink,'' 

And down gaed st ample in the ink: 

Quoth I, " Before I sleep a wink, 

I vow I'll close it; 
And if ye winna mak it clink, '° 

By Jove I'll prose it! " 

Sae, I've begun to scrawl, but whether 
In rhyme, or prose, or baith thegither, 
Or some hotch-potch* that's rightly 
neither, 

Let time mak proof ; 



"* Worn sore with fatigxie. ^ The heedless 

and exhausted jade. ® Silly. '' Lazy jade. 
•* Quantity. ^ Twinkling- i" Rhyme 

* Hotch potch is the Scotch name for a soup 
made of all sorts of vegetables. No other ex- 
planation could give a proper idea of the 
meaning;: of the phrase here. 



But I shall scribble down some 
blether' 1 

Just clean aff-loof.f 

My worthy friend, ne'er grudge and 
carp, [sharp; 

Though Fortune use you hard and 
Come, kittle''^ up your moorland-harp 

Wi' gleesome touch! 
Ne'er mind how Fortune waft and 
warp; 

She's but a bitch. 

She's gien'3 j^q mony a jert and fleg,''* 

Sin' I could striddle owre a rig; 

But, by the Lord, though I should beg 

Wi, lyart pow,'^ 
I'll laugh, and sing, and shake my leg, 

As lang's I dow ! ^^ 

Now comes the sax and twentieth sim- 
mer 
I've seen the bud upo' the timmer," 
Still persecuted by the limmer'^ 

Frae year to year; 
But yet, despite the kittle kimmer,'^ 

I, Rob, am here. 

Do you envy the city gent, 

Behint a kist to lie and sklent, f 

Or purse-proud, big wi' cent, per cent. 

And muckle wame,-'^ 
la some bit brugli to represent 

A bailie's name ? 

Or is't the paughty,^' feudal thane, 
Wi' ruffled sark and glancing cane, 
Wha thinks himsel nae sheep-shank 
bane, 

But lordly stalks. 
While caps and bonnets aff are ta'en,'^"^ 

As by he walks. 

Thou "wha gies us each guid gift ! 

Gie me o' wit and sense a lift. 

Then turn me, if Thou please, adrift, 

Through Scotland wide; 
Wi' cits nor lairds I \vadna shift. 

In a' their pride ! 

Were this the charter of our state, 
" On pain o' hell be rich and great," 

11 Nonsense. 12 Tickle. i3 Given, i* Jerk 
and kick. '= Gray head. i« Can. •' Tree. 
i«Jade. 19 Girl. 20 Big belly. 21 Haughty. 
22 Taken. 

t Scotticism for extemporaneous. 

^ Behind a counter to lie and leer. 



EPISTLES. 



Damnation then would be our fate 
Beyond remead; 

But, thanks to Heaven, that's no the 
gate 

We learn our creed. 

For thus the royal mandate ran. 
When first the human race began, 
" The social, friendly, honest man, 

Whate'er he be, 
'Tis he fulfils great Nature's plan. 

And none bat he !" 

O mandate, glorious and divine ! 
The ragged followers o' the Nine, 
Poor, "thoughtless devils ! yet may 
shine 

In glorious light, 
While sordid sons o' Mammon's line 

Are dark as night. 

Though here they scrape, and squeeze, 

and growl, 
Their worthless nievefu'^^ of a soul 
May in some future carcase howl, 

The forest's fright; 
Or in some day-detesting owl 

May shun the light. 

Then may Lapraik and Burns arise, 
To reach their native kindred skies. 
And sing their pleasures, hopes, and 
joys, 

In some mild sphere. 
Still closer knit in friendship's ties 

Each passing year ! 



EPISTLE TO JOHN GOUDIE, KIL- 
MARNOCK, 

ON THE PUBLICATION OF HIS ESSAYS. 

John Goudie was a Kilmarnock tradesman. 
His Essay, fully discussing- the authority of 
the Holy Scriptures, first appeared in 1780, 
and a new edition m 1785. The publication 
of the new edition called forth the following 
epistle from the poet : — 

O Goudie ! terror of the Whigs, 
Dread of black coats and reverend wigs, 
Sour Bigotry, on her last legs, 

Girnin',' looks back, 
Wishin' the ten Egyptian plagues 

Wad seize you quick. 



33 Handful. 



Grinning. 



Poor gapin', glowrin,^ Superstition, 
Waes me ! she's in a sad condition; 
Fie ! bring Black Jock,* her state 
physician. 

To see her water; 
Alas ! there's ground o' great suspicion 

She'll ne'er get better. 

Auld Orthodoxy long did grapple. 
But now she's got an unco ripple;^ 
Haste, gie her name u i' the chapel, 

Nigh unto death; 
See how she fetches at the tiirapple,* 

And gasps for breath ! 

Enthusiasm's past redemption, 
Gaen^ in a galloping consumption. 
Not a' the quacks, wi' a' their gump- 
tion,^ 

Will ever mend her. 
Her feeble pulse gies strong presump- 
tion ■ 

Death soon will end her. 

'Tis you and Taylorf are the chief, 

Wha are to blame for this mischief; 
But gin the Lord's ain folk gat leave, 

A toom'' tar-barrel 
And twa red peats^ wad send relief. 

And end the quarrel. 



EPISTLE TO WILLIAM SIMPSON, 

OCHILTREE. 

May, 1785. 

\Villiam Simpson was schoolmaster of Ochil- 
tree, a parish a few miles south of Mauch- 
line. According- to Mr. Chambers, he had 
sent a rhymed epistle to Burns, on reading 
hisisatireof the " Tv/a Herds," which called 
forth the following beautiful epistle in re- 
ply:- 

I GAT your letter, winsome^ Willie; 
Wi' gratefu' heart I thank vou braw- 

lie> 
Though I maun say't, I Avad be silly. 

And unco vain, 
Should I believe, my coaxin' billie,'^ 

Your flatter] n' strain. 

"^ Staring. ^ Pains in the back and loins, 
* Throat. ^ Gone. ^ Knowledge. "> Empty. 
^ Two burning peats to set fire to the tal 
barrel. 

1 Hearty, 2 Heartily. ^ Fellow. 

* The Rev. John Russell, Kilmarnock, one 
of the heroes of the " Twa Herds." 

t Dr. Taylor of Norwich.— B. 



156 



BURNS' ^VOnilS. 



But I'se believe ye kindly meant it, 
I sud^ be laith, to think ye hinted 
Ironic satire, sidelins sklented^ 

Ou my poor Miisie, 
Tliough in sic phrasin'^ terms ye'vo 
penn'd it, 

I scarce excuse ye. 

Wy senses wad be in a creel,* 
Should 1 l)ut dare a hope to speel, 
^Vi' Allan or wi' GilbertHeld.f 

The braes o' fame; 
Or Fergusson,:}; the writer cliiel, 

A deathless name. 

(0 Fergaisson, thy glorious parts 

lil suited law's dry musty arts ! 

My curse upon your whunstane hearts, 

Ye E'nbrugh gentry ! 
The tithe o' what ye waste at cartes'' 

Wad stow'd" his pantry ! ) 

Yet when a tale comes i' my head, 

Or lasses gie my heart a screed,' 

As whiles they're like to be my dead, 

(0 sad disease !) 
I kittle^" up my rustic reed; 

It gies me ease. 

Auld Coila^ now may fidge fu' fain,^^ 
She's gotten poets o' her ain, [liain^-^ 
Chiels''^ wha their chanters winna 

But tune their lays, 
Till echoes a' resound again 

Her v.eel-sung praise. 

Kae poet thought her worth his while. 
To set her name in measured style. 
She lay like some unkenn'd-of isle 
Beside New Holland, 
Or where wild-meeting oceans boil 
• Besoutli Magellan. 

Bamsay and famous Fergusson 
(iied Forth and Tay a lift aboon;!^ 



■* Should. * Obliqucl}' directed. ^ Flalter- 
int?. "^ Cards. « Stored. « Rent, i" Tickle. 
^1 Fidget with joy. ^^ Fellows. i3 Will not 
Epo.re. ** Above. 

* A basket. When a person's wits are sup- 
posed to be a wool-gathering, he is said to be 
in a creel. 

+ Allan Ramsay, and William Hamilton of 
Gilbcrtfield, a forgotten poet and contempo- 
rary of Ramsay's. 

X Robert Fergusson, the poet. 

§ An application frequently applied by 
Burns to the district of Kyle. 



Yarrow and Tweed, to mony a tune, 
Owre Scotland rings, 

While Irwin, Lugar, Ayr, and Doon, 
Naebody sings. 

Th' missus, Tiber, Thames, and 

Seine, 
Glide sweet in mony a tunefu' line ! 
But, Willie, set your fit to mine. 

And cock'^ your crest. 
We'll gar'6 our streams and burnies 
shine 

Up wi' the best. 

We'll sing auld Coila's plains and fells, 
Her moors red-brown wi' heather-bells. 
Her banks and braes, her dens and 
dells, 

Where glorious Wallace 
xVft bare the gree,^' as story tells, 

Frae southron billies. 

At Wallace' name what Scottish blood 
But boils up in a spring-tide flood ! 
Oft have our fearless fathers strode 

By Wallace' side. 
Still pressing onward, red-wat shod,^^ 

Or glorious died. 

Oh, sweet are Coila's haughs''' and 

woods, [buds. 

When lintwhites chant amang tlie 

And jiukin'^'° hares, in amorous wliids,|| 

Their love enjoy, 
While through the braes the cushat 
croods''^^ 

With wailfu' cry ! 

Even winter bleak has charms to m.e, 
When winds rave throtigh the naked 

tree ; 
Or frosts on hills of Ochiltree 

Are hoary gray 
Or blinding drifts v.ild-furious flee, 

Darkening the day ! 

Nature ! a' thy shows and forms, 
To feeling, pensive hearts hae charms! 
Whether the summer kindly warms 

Wi' life and light, 
Or winter howls, in gusty storms, 

The lang, dark night ! 

15 Elevate. ^^ Make. ^^ Often bore the bel^] 
'"Their shoes red in blood. '"Meadows' 
20 Dodging. 21 Coos. 

!| A word expressive of the quick, nimblr 
movements of the hare. 



EPISTLES. 



107 



The Muse, nae poet ever land- lier, 
Till by himself he learn'd to wander, 
Adown some trotting burn's meander, 

And no think lang; 
Oh sweet to stray, and pensive ponder 

A heart-felt sang! 

The war'lr race may drudge and drive 
Hog-shouther, jundie,^^ stretch, and 

strive — n i • 24 

Let me fair Nature's face descrive,^"' 

And I, wi' pleasure, 
Shall let the busy, grumbling hive 

Bum owre-= their treasure 

Fareweel, "my rhyme - composing 
brither!" ^ [itlier- 

We've been owre lang unkenn d to 
Now let us lay our heads thegither, 

In love fraternal. 
May Envy wallop'^'' in a tether'^^ 

Black fiend, infernal! 

While Highlandmen hate tolls and 
taxes; [braxies,'';[ 

While moorlan' herds like guid fat 
While terra firma on her axis 

Diurnal turns. 
Count on a friend, in faith and practice, 
In Robert Burns. 

POSTSCRIPT. 

My memory's no worth a preen t'-*^ 

1 had amaist forgotten clean 

Ye bade me write you what they mean 

By this New Light, ^ ■•^■ 
'Bout which our herds sae aft hae been 

Maist like to fight. 

In days w^hen mankind were but cal- 

lans^^o ^ 

At grammar, logic, and sic talents. 
They took nae pains their speech to 
balance, 

Or rules to gie,-^^ 
But spak their thoughts in plain, braid 
lallans,"'^ 

Like you or me. 



22 Found. -3 Jostle, push. ^4 Describe. 
26 Hum over. '■^" Too long unknown to 
each other. 2' Struggle. 2^ Rope. 2« Pin. 

—io Juveniles. 3i Give. ^2 Lowland speech. 
1 <f Sheep which have died of disease -and 

j^jirhich are understood to belong to the shep- 



In thae auid times, they thought the 

Just like a sark,^^ or pair of shoon,-** 
Wore by degrees, till her last roon-^' 

Gaed past their viewing. 
And shortly after she was done. 

They gat a new one. 

This pass'd for certain— undisputed: 
It ne'er cam i' their heads to donbt it, 
Till chiels^*^ gat up and wad confute it, 

And ca'A it wrang: 
And muckle din there was about it, 

Baith loud and lang. 

Some herds, weel learn'd upo' the 

beuk,:^-" [teuk-9 

Wad threap=^8 auld folk the thing mis- 

For 'twas the auld moon turn'd a 

neuk,^'' 

And out o' sight, 
And backlins^i-comin', to the leuld^ 
She grew mair bright. 

This w-as denied— it was afnrm'd; 
The herd and hirsels^^' were alarm'd; 
The reverend gray-beards raved and 
storm'd ^ ^ ^. ^, 

That beardless laddies''-' 
Should thinli they better were in- 
form'd , ^,. ,. 

Than their auld daddies''^ 

Frae less to mair it gaed to sticks; 
Frae words and aiths to clours and 

nicks ;-'° 
And mony a fallow gat his licks,'*^ 

Wi' hearty crunt;-*^ 
xVnd some, to learn them for their 
tricks. 

Were hang'd and brunt. 

This o-ame was play'd in mony lands, 
And °Auld- Light caddies"*^ bure sip 
hands [sands 

That, faith, the youngsters took the 

Wi' nimble shanks, ^'^ 
Till lairds forbade, by strict commands, 

Sic bluidy pranks. 

But New -Light herds gat sic a cowe,^i 
Folk thought them ruin'd stick and 
stowe,^'-' 



ly 



lerds as their perquisites. 

' ** Aa allusion to the " Twa Herds." 



33 Shirt 34 Shoes. 3^ Shred. "*= Fellows. 
37 Book 38 Arguer 39 Mistook. ^^ Corner. 
41 Backwards. "2 Look. « Flocks. 44 Lads. 
45 Fathers. *« Blows and cuts. *'' Got a beat- 
ing ^*« Dint. *^^ Fellows. *» Legs. " Such 
a fright, ^astuinp and rump. 



158 



BURNS' WORKS 



Till now amaist on every knowe" 
Ye'll find ane placed; 

And some tlieir New-Light fair avow, 
Just quite barefaced. 

Nae doubt the Auld-Light flocks are 
bleatin'; [sweatin'; 

Their zealous herds are vex'd and 
Mysel, I've even seen them greetin'^^ 

Wi' girnin'" spite, 
To hear the moon sae sadly lied on, 

By word and write. 

But shortly they will cowe the loons !''^ 
Some Auld-Light herds in neibor towns 
Are mind't, in things they ca' balloons. 

To tak a flight, 
And stay ae month amaug the moons, 

And see them right. 

Guid observation they will gie them; 
And when the auld moon's gaun to 
lea'e them, [wi' them, 

The hindmost shaird," they'll fetch it 

Just i' tlieir pouch, ^^ 
And when the New-Light billies^^ see 
them, 

I think they'll crouch ! 

Sae, ye observed that a' this clatter^'' 
Is naething but a "moonshine matter;" 
But though dull prose-folk Latin splat- 
ter 

In logic tulzie,*^^ 
I hope we bardies ken some better 

Than mind sic brulzie. ''^ 



THIRD EPISTLE TO JOHN 
LAPRAIK 

This epistle did not appear in either of the 
editions of his works which the poet saw- 
through the press. It was written while in 
the midst of his second harvest, at Mossgiel 
— an unfortunate one, as it proved ; for be- 
ing both a late and a wet season, an evil 
conjunction on the cold wet soil, half the 
crops were lost. 

September 13, 1705 

GuTD speed and furder* to you,Johnny, 
Guid health, hale ban's, and weather 
bonny; 



53 Hillock. 64 Crying. s'^ Grinning. '"^ 
Rascals. ^^ Shred. '^^ Pocket. s» Fellows. 
*° Gossip. ^1 Contention. "^'^ Broils. 

* Good speed and success in furtherance to 
you. 



Now when ye' re nickan^ down fu' 
canny 

The staff o' bread. 
May ye ne'er want a stoup o' bran'y 
To clear your head. 

May Boreas never thrash your rigs,| 
Nor kick your rickles- aff their legs, 
Sendin' tlie stuff o'er muirs and hag.^rs^ 

Lil<^e drivin' wrack; 
But may the tapmast grain that wag.s 

Come to the sack. 

I'm bizzie too, and skelpin'* at it, 
But bitter, daudin'^ showers hae wat it, 
Sae my auld stumpie pen I gat it 

Wi' muckle wark, 
And took my jocteleg'' and whatf it, 

Like ony dark. 

It's now twa month that I'm your 
debtor, [ter, 

For your braw, nameless, dateless let- 
Abusin' me for harsh ill nature 

On holy men, 
While deil a hair yoursel ye're better. 
But mair profane. 

But let the kirk-folk ring their bells, 
Let's sing about our noble sels; 
We'll cry nae jads^ frae heathen hills 

To help or roose^ us. 
But browster wives^*^ and whisky stills. 

They are the muses. 

Your friendship, sir, I winna quat it, 
And if ye mak objections' at it. 
Then han' in nieve" some day we'll 
knot'- it, 

And witness take, 
xVnd when wi' usquebae we've wat it. 
It winna break. 

But if the beast and branks'^ be spared 
Till kye be gaun'^ without the herd, 
And a' the vitteP^ in the yard, 

And theekit'*^ right, 
I mean your ingle -side to guard 

Ae winter night. 



1 Cutting. 2 stooks or shocks of corn. 
3 Morasses. * Driving at it. ^ Wind-driven, 
6 Clasp-knife. '^ Cut or sharpened it. ^ Mu.ses. 
9 Rouse. '" Ale-house wives. ^^ Hand in fist. 
12 Bind. 13 Bridle. 1* Going. ^^ Victual. 
'8 Thatched. 

t May Boreas never shake the corn in you.i 
ndgcs. 



EPISTLES. 



159 



Then muse-inspirin' aqua vitae [witty, 
Shall make us baith sae blithe and 
Till ye fore:etye're auld and gatty,^^ 

And be as canty'=* [^Y-^'^ 

As ye were nine years less than thret 

Sweet ane and twenty I 

But stocks are cowpif^'* wi' the blast, 
And now the sinn keeks'^' in the west, 
Then I maun rin amang the rest, 

And quat my chanter; 
Sae I subscribe myself in haste. 

Yours, Rab the Ranter. 



EPISTLE TO THE REV. JOHX 
M'MATH. 

The Rev. John M'Math was at this time assist- 
ant to the Rev. Peter Wodrow of Torbolton. 
As a copy of " Holy WilUe's Prayer" accom- 
panied the epistle, we need hardly say he 
was a member of the New-light party. 
The bleak ungenial harvest weather is very 
graphically pictured in the first verse. 

September 17, 1785. 

While at the stook the shearers' cower 
To shun the bitter blaudin- shower, 
Or in gulravage rinnin' scower'^ 

To pass the time. 
To you I dedicate the hour 

In idle rhyme. 

My Musie, tired wi' mony a sonnet 
Oil gown, and ban', and douce^ black 

bonnet. 
Is grown right eerie^ now she's done it. 
Lest they should blame her. 
And rouse their holy thunder on it 
And anathem her. 

I :;wn 'twas rash, and rather hardy. 
That I, a simple country bardie. 
Should meddle wi' a pack sae sturdy, 

Wha, if they ken me. 
Can easy, wi' a single wordie, 

Lowse hell upon me. 

But I gae mad at their grimaces. 
Their sighin', cantin', grace-proud 
faces. 



J^ Frail, is Happy, i^ Thirty. 20 Over- 
turned, ■■^i Sun blinks. 

1 Harvest people. 2 Pelting. 3 Run riotous- 
ly for amusement. "^ Sedate, ^ Timorous. 



Their three-mile prayers, and half-mile 
graces; 

Their raxin'^ conscience, 
Whase greed, revenge, and pride dis- 
graces 

Waur nor^ their nonsci-oe. 

There's Gawn,* misca't^ waur than a 

beast, 
Wha has mair honour in his breast 
Than mony scores as guid's the priest 

\Vha sae abus't him. 
And may a bard no crack his jest 

Wl^at way they've use't him? 

See him, the poor man's friend in need, 
The gentleman in word and deed, 
And shall his fame and honour bleed 

By worthless skellums,^ 
And not a muse erect her head 

To CO we the blellums ?^* 

Pope, had I thy satire's darts. 
To gie the rascals their deserts, 
I'd rip their rotten, hollow hearts. 

And tell aloud. 
Their jugglin' hocus-pocus arts. 

To cheat the crowd. 

God knows, I'm no the thing I should 

be, 
Nor am I even the thing I could be. 
But twenty times I rather would be 

An atheist clean. 
Than under gospel colours hid be 

Just for a screen. 

An honest man may like a glass. 

An honest man may like a lass. 

But mean revenge, and malice f ause, ' ' 

He'll still disdain, 
And then cry zeal for gospel laws. 

Like some we ken. 

They take religion in their mouth; 
They talk o' mercy, grace, and truth. 
For what ? — to gie their malice skouth'^ 

On some puir wight, '-^ 
And hunt him down, o'er right and 
ruth,!^ 

To ruin straight. 



" Stretcning. ''' Worse than. ^ Misnamed. 
9 Wretches, i" Fellows. ^^ False. »2 Scope. 
1^ Fellow. '•* Mercy, 

=*= Gavin Hamilton, Esq. 



IGO 



BURNS' WORKS. 



All liail, Religion ! maid divine ! 
Pardon a Muse sae mean as mine, 
Who, in licr rough imperfect line, 

Tliub daurs to name thee; 
To stigmatise false friends of thine 

Can ne'er defame thee. 

Though blocht and foul wi' mony a 

stain, 
And far unworthy of thy train, 
With trembling voice 1 tune my strain 

To join vvdth those 
U'ho boldly daur thy cause maiutain 

In sjjite o' foes; 

In spite o' crowds, in spite o' mobs, 
In spite o' undermining jobs, 
In si)ite o' dark banditti stabs 

At worth and merit, 
By scoundrels, even wi' holy robes. 

But hellish spirit. 

Ayr ! my dear, my native ground, 
Witliin thy presbyterial bound, 
A candid liberal band is found 

Of public teachers. 
As men, as Christians too, renown 'd, 

And manly preachers. 

Sir, in that circle you are named; 
Sir, in that circle you are famed; 
And some, by whom your doctrine's 
blamed, 

(Which gies you honour), 
Even, sir, by them your heart's es 
teem'd. 

And winning manner. 

Pardon this freedom I have ta'en. 
And if impertinent I've been. 
Impute it not, good sir, in ane 

Whase heart ne'er wi-ang'd ye, 
But to his utmost would befriend 

Ought that belang'd ye. 



SECOND EPISTLE TO DAVIE. 

A EROTIIER POET. 

AuLD Neibor, 

I'M three times doubly o'er your debtor. 
For your auld-farrant' friend'ly letter; 
Though I maun say't, I doubt ye flatter, 

Ye speak sae fair. 
For my puir, silly, rhymin' clatter 

Some less maun sair.- 

1 Sagacious. ^ Mu^t scrv^. 



Hale be your heart, hale be your fiddle; 
Lang may your el buck jink and diddle,^ 
To cheer you through the weary widdle* 

0' war'ly cares. 
Till bairns' bairns kindly cuddle^ 

Your auld gray hairs. 

But, Davie, lad, I'm rede ye're glakit;* 
I'm tauld the Muse ye hae negleckit; 
And gif it 's sae, ye sud be licket^ 

Until ye fyke;^ 
Sic hauns as you sud ne'er be faikit,^ 

Be haint'" wha like. 

For me, I'm on Parnassus' brink 
Rivin'" the words to gar^-' them clink; 
W^hiles dais't'" wi' love, whiles duis't 
wi' drink, 

Wi' jads or masons; 
And whiles, but aye ovvre late, 1 thinlc 

Braw sober lessons. 

Of n' the thoughtless sons o' man, 
Commen' me to the bardie clan; 
Except it be some idle plan 

O' rhymin' clink. 
The devil-haet,^^ that I sud ban. 

They ever think. 

Nae thought, nae view% nae scheme o' 

livin', 
Nae cares to gie us joy or grievin'; 
But just the pouchie^^ put the nieve^® 
in, 

And while ought's there. 
Then hiltie skiltie'" we gae scrieviii',''* 
And fash''-' nae mair. 

Leeze me-'' on rhyme ! its aye a treas- 
ure. 
My chief, amaist my only pleasure, 
.t hame, a-fiel', at wark, or leisure. 

The Muse, poor hizziel"^^ 
i'hough rough and raploch-^- be her 
measure, 

She's seldom lazy. 

Hand to the Muse, my dainty Davie, 
The warl may play you mony a sha- 

vie;--^ 



' Elbow dod.q-e and jerk. '• Strugg-le. •'• 
Fondle. " I fear you are foolish. '' Should 
be beaten. '' Shrug-. " Spared. i° Saved. 
>i Twisting. »2 Make. i3 stupid. ^* T]w 
devil a bit. is Pocket. '« Fist. '' Helter 
skelter. "* Go smoothly. i9 Trouble. 20 a 
term of endearment, an expression of happi- 
acbs or pleasure. -'Lass. "'^"Coarse, ^a Xrick. 



E-^ieTI.ES. 



IGt 



But for the Muse she'll never leave ye, : T!ie star that i-iile:. 



Though e'er so puir, 
Na, c;ven though limpiu' wi' the spa- 
vie^-^ 

Frae door to door. 



EPISTLE TO JAMES SMITH. 

James Smith, one of Burns' earliest friends, 
was a merchant in Mauchhne. He was 
present at the scene in " Poosie Nansie's," 
which suggested ''The Jolly Beggars." 

" Friendship ! mysterious cement of the soul ! 
Sweet'ner of life, and solder of society ! 
1 owe thee much-"— Blair. 

Dear Smith, the sleest,^ paukie^ thief, 
That e'er attempted stealth or rief,^ 
Ye surely hae some warlock breef^ 

Ovvre human hearts; 
For ne'er a bosom yet was prief^ 

Against your arts. 

For me, I swear by sun and moon, 
And every star that blinks aboon, 
Ye've cost me twenty pair of shoon^ 

Just gaun to see you; 
And every itlier pair that's done, 

Mair ta'en I'm wi' you. 

That auld capricious carlin,' Nature, 
To mak amends for scrimpit* stature, 
She's turn'd you aff, a human creature 

On her first plan; 
And in her freaks, on every feature 

She's wrote, "The Man." 

Just now I've ta'en the fit o' rhyme, 
INIy barmie^ noddle's working prime, 
INIy fancy yerkit"^ up sublime 

Wi' hasty summon: 
Hae ye a leisure moment's time 

To hear what's comin'? 

Some rhyme a neibor's name to lash; 
Some rhyme (vain thought!) for needfu' 
cash; [clash, ^' 

Some rhyme to court the country 

And raise a din,''^ 
For me, an aim I never fash;'^ 

I rhyme for fun. . 



my 



luckless lot 



2« Spavin. 
J Slyest. 2 Knowing. ^ Robbery. ^ Spell. 
* Proof. « Shoes. '' Woman. « s^,r,ted. 
•Yeasty '° Fermented. '' Gossip, '^ Noise. 
w Trouble. 



Has fated me the ru.sset coat. 

And damn'd my fortune to the groat; 

But in requit, 
Has blessed me wi' a randori^ shot 

O' country wit. 

This while my notion's ta'en a sklent,'-^ 
To try my fate in guid black prent ; 
But still, the mair I'm that way bent., 

Something cries, "Hoolie!'^ 
I rede^^ you, honest man, tak tent,''' 
Ye'll shaw your folly. 

"There's ither poets much your betters. 
Far seen in Greek, deep men o' letters, 
Hae thought they had insured their 
debtors 

A' future ages; 
Now moths deform in shapeless tatters 

Their unknown pages." 

Then farcAvecl hopes o' laurel-boughs. 
To garland my poetic brows! 



Henceforth 
ploughs 

And teach 
howes'^ 



I'll rove where busy 



Are whistling thrang 
the lanely heights 

My rustic sang. 



and 



I'll wander on, with tentless^'' heed 
How never halting moments speed. 
Till Fate shall snap the brittle thread; 

Then, all -unknown, 
I'll lay me with inglorious dead, 

Forgot and gone I 

But why o' death begin a tale ? 

Just now we're livhig sound and hale, 

Then top and maintop crowd the sail. 

Heave Care owre side! 
And large, before Enjoyment's gale. 

Let's tak the tide. 

This life, sae far's I understand. 

Is a' enchanted fairy- land. 

Where Pleasure is the magic wand, 

That, wielded right, 
Maks hours like minutes, hand in hand. 

Dance by f u' light. 

The magic wand then let us wield, 
For, ance that fi ve-and forty's speel'd,^" 



'4 Twist. '3 Beware. '" Warn. 
Hollows. 1^ Aimless- 20 Qimbed. 



Care, 



163 



BURNS' WORKS. 



See, crazy, weary, joyless Eild,"' 
Wi' wrinkled face, 

Comes hostin',''^'^ hirplin',^^ owre tlie 
field, 

Wi' creepin' pace. 

When ance life's day draws near the 

gloamin', 
Then farcweel vacant careless roamin'; 
And fareweel clieerf u' tankards foamin' 

And social noise; 
And fareweel, dear deluding woman ! 
The joy of joys ! 

O Life ! how pleasant is thy morning, 

Young Fancy's rays the hills adorning ! 

Cold -pausing Caution's lesson scorning. 
We frisk away, [}t^S> 

TJike schoolboys, at the expec+ed warn- 
To joy and play. 

We wander there, we wander here. 
We eye the rose up®n the brier. 
Unmindful that the thorn is near, 

Among the leaves; 
And though the puny wound appear, 

Short while it grieves. 

Some, lucky, find a flowery spot. 
For which they never toil'd or swat;'^'* 
They drink the sweet and eat tliti fat 

But care or pain; 
And, haply, eye the barren hut 

With high disdain. 

With steady aim some fortune chase; 
Keen hope does every sinew brace; 
Through fair, through foul, they urge 
the race 

And seize the prey: 
Then cannie,-^ in some cozie-*' place, 

They close the day. 

And others like your humble servan', 
Poor wights !-'' nae rules nor rodes ob- 

servin' 
To right or left, eternal swervin'. 

They zig-zag on; [vin'. 
Till curst with age, obscure and star- 
They aften groan. 

Alas ! what bitter toil and straining — 
But truce with peevish, poor complain- 



21 Age. 22 Coughing. ^3 Limping. 

S4 Sweated. «- Quietly. J^ Snug. 27 Fellows. 



Is Fortune's fickle Luna waning? 

E'en let her gang ! 
Beneath what light she has remaining. 

Let's sing our sang. 

jMy pen I here fling to the door, 

And kneel, "Ye Powers !" and wann 

implore, 
' ' Though I should wander Terra o'er, 

Li all her climes, 
Grant me but this, I ask no more, 

Aye rowth^® o' rhymes. 

" Gie dreeping roasts to country lairds, 
Till icicles hing frae their beards; 
Gie fine braw claes to fine life-guards, 

And maids of honour ! 
And yill and whisky gie to cairds,^' 

Until they sconner,^° 

" A title, Dempster* merits it; 

A garter gie to Willie Pitt; 

Gie wealth to some be-ledger'd cit. 

In cent, per cent. ; 
But gie me real, sterling wit, 

And I'm content. 

"While ye are pleased to keep m© 

hale, 
I'll sit down o'er my scanty meal, 
Be't water-brose, or muslin-kail,^^ 

Wi' cheerfu' face, 
As lang's the Muses dinna fail 

To say the grace. " 

An anxious ee I never throws 

Behint my lug^^ or by my nose; 

I jouk^^ beneath Misfortune's blows 

As weel's I may. 
Sworn foe to Sorrow, Care, and Prose, 

I rhyme away. 

ye douce^** folk, that live by rule. 
Grave, tideless-blooded, calm and cool, 
Compared wi' you — fool! fool! fooll 

How much unlike! 
Your hearts are just a standing pool, 

Your lives a diliel^^ 

Nae harebrain'd, sentimental traces, 
In your unletter'd nameless faces! 



28 Abundance. 29 Tinkers, so Are nauseated. 

31 Broth made without meat. ^^ Ear. 

33 Stoop. 34 Serious. 35 Blank as a wail, 

* George Dempster of Dunnichen, a parlia- 

1 msntary orator of the time. 



EPISTLES. 



163 



In arioso trills and graces 

Ye never stray, 
But gravissimo, solemn basses 

Ye 1mm away. 

Ye are sae grave, nae doubt ye're wise; 

Nae ferly^** though ye do despise 

The hairum-scairum, ram-stam^^ boys, 

The rattling squad. 
I see you upward cast your eyes 

Ye ken the road. 

Whilst I — but I shall hand me there — 
\'\^i' you I'll scarce gang ony where — 
Then, Jamie, 1 shall say nae mair 

But quat my sang. 
Content wi' you to mak a pair, 

Whare'er I gang. 



EPISTLE TO GAVIN HAMILTON, 

Esq., 

recommending a boy 

Gavin Hamilton, solicitor in Mauchline, was 
a warm and generous friend of the poet's, 
a New-Light partisan who had suffered 
from Auld-Light persecutions. 

MOSGAVILLE, Maf 3, 17S6. 

I HOLD it, sir, my bounden duty 

To w'arn you how that Master Tootie, 

Alias, Laird M'Gaun, 
Was here to hire yon lad away 
'Bout whom ye spak the tither day. 

And wad hae done't aff lian'^ 
But lest he learn the callan'^ tricks, 
. As, faith, I muckle doubt him, 
like scrapin' out auld Crummie's i 
nicks. 
And tellin' lies about them : 
As lieve^ then, I'd have then, 

Your clerkship he should sair, 
If sae be, ye may be 
Not fitted other where. 

Although I say't, he's gleg* enough, 
And 'bout a house that's rude and 
rough, 
The boy might learn to swear, 
But then wi' you he'll be sae taught. 



1 Of?-hand 
Sharp. 



^® Wonder. ' 
Boy. 



And get sic fair example strauglit, 

I haena ony fear. 
Ye'll catechise him every quirk, 
And shoro^ him weel wi' hell; 
And gar*^ him follov/ to the kirk- 
Aye when ye gang yoursel. 
If ye then, maun be then 

Frae hame this comin' Friday; 
Then please sir, to lea'e, sir, 
The orders wi' your lady. 

My word of honour I hae gien, 

In Paisley John's, that night at e'en, 

To meet the warld's w^orm;'' 
To try to get the twa to gree, 
And name the airles^ and the fee. 

In legal mode and form. 
I ken he weel a sneck can draw,' 

When simple bodies let him; 
And if ?, devil be at a'. 

In faith he's sure to get him. 
To phrase you, and praise you, 
Yc ken your laureate scorns: 
The prayer still, you share still. 
Of grateful Minstrel Burns. 



Reckless. 
3 More 



willingly. 



POETICAL INVITATION TO MR. 
JOHN KENNEDY 

This rhymed epistle was accompanied by a 
prose letter, and a copy of the " Cotter's 
Saturday Night " Kennedy had interested 
himself greatly in the success of the Kilmar- 
nock edition of the poems. He was after- 
wards factor to the Marquis of Breadal- 
bane. 

Now Kennedy, if foot or horse 
E'er bring you in by Mauchline corse,' 
Lord, man, there's lasses there wad 
force 

A hermit's fancy; [worse^ 
And down the gate, in faith they're 

And mair unchancy. 

But, as I'm sayin', please step to Dow's, 
And taste sic gear as Johnnie brew^s, 
Till some bit callant* bring me news 

That you are there. 
And if we dinna hand a bouze 

I'se ne'er drink mair. 



s Threaten. « Make. '' Avaricious crea- 
ture. ^ Earnest money. ^ Can take advant- 
age. 

1 Mauchline market cross. ^ Boy 



164 



^RNS' WORKS. 



If s no I like to sit and j^wallow, 
Then like a swine to pake and wallow; 
But gie me just a true good la How, 

Wi" right ingine,'' 
And epunkie,'* anc^e to make us mellow, 

An.ct Lhen we'll shine. 

Kow, if ye're anc o' warld's folk, 

Wlia rate the wearer by the cloak, 

And sklent^ on poverty their joke. 



W 



1 bitter sneer. 



Wi^ you no friendship will 1 troke,^ 
JS'or cheap nor dear. 

But if, as I'm informed weel. 
Ye hate, as ill's the very deil. 
The limty heart that canna feel — 

Come, sir, here's tae you ! 
Hae, there's my haun', I wiss you weel, 

And guid be wi you. 



EPISTLE TO A YOUNG FRIEND. 

This epistle was addressed to Andrew Aiken, 
the son of his old friend Robert Aiken, writer 
in Ayr. Andrew Aiken afterwards earned 
dislinction in the service of his country. 

Llay, 1786. 

I LANG hae thought, my youthfu' 
friend, 

A something to have sent you. 
Though it should serve nae other end 

Than just a kind memento. 
But hoAv'^the subject theme may gang, 

Let time and chance determine, 
Perhaps it may turn out a sang, 

Perhaps turn out a sermon, 

Y^'e'Il try tlie world f u' soon my lad, 

And,* Andrew dear, believe mo, 
You'll jfind mankind an unco squad, ^ 

And muckle tliey may grieve ye; 
For care and trouble set your thought, 

Even when your end's attain'd. 
And a' your views may come to nought. 

Where every nerve is straiii'd. 

I'll no say men are villains a'; 

The real, harden'd, wicked, 
Wlia hae nae check but human law, 

Are to a few rest ricked : 



3 Genius or temperament * Whisky is 

meant. * Throw. ® Exchange. 

* Queer lot. 



But, ocli ! mankind are nnco* weak. 

And little to be trusted; 
If self the wavering balance shake, 

it's rarely right adjusted 1 

Yet they wha fa' in fortune's strife, 

Their fate we shouldna censure, 
For still the important end of life 

They equally may answer; 
A man may hae an honest heart, 

Though poortith" hourly stare him ; 
A man may tak a neibor's part, 

Yet hae na cash to spare him. 

Aye free aff han' ^ your story tell, 

When wi' a bosom crony ;^ 
But still keep something to yoursel 

Ye scarcely tell to ony, 
Conceal yoursel, as weel's ye can 

Frae critical dissection. 
But keek'' through every other man, 

Wi' sharpen'd, sly inspection. 

The sacred lowe o' weel- placed love. 

Luxuriantly indulge it; 
But never tempt the illict rove, 

Though naething should divulge it; 
I waive the quantum o' the sin. 

The hazard of concealing; 
But, ocli ! it hardens a' within, 

And petrifies the feeling ! 

To catch dame Fortune's golden smile. 

Assiduous wait upon her; 
And gather gear'' by every wile 

That's justified by hoiiour,- 
Not for to hide it in a hedge, 

Nor for a train-attendant; 
But for the glorious privilege 

Of being independent. 

The fear o' hell's a liangman's whip 

To hand the wretch in order; 
But where ye feel your honour grip. 

Let that aye be your border 
Its slightest touches, instant pause — = 

Debar a' side pretenses. 
And resolutely keep its laws. 

Uncaring consequences. 

The great Creator to revere 

Must sure become the creature; 

But still the preaching cant forbear. 
And even the rigid feature: 

2 Very. » Poverty. ^ Off-hand ^ Booa 
companion. ° Look pryingly. '' Wealth. 



EPISTLES. 



1«5 



Yet ne'er with wits profane to range, j 

Be complaisance extended ; 
An atheist laugh's a poor exchange 

For Deity offended! 

When ranting round in Pleasure's ring, 

Religion may be blinded; 
Or il she gie a random sting, 

It may be little minded ; 
But when on life we're tempest-driven, 

A conscience but a canker — 
A correspondence fix'd wi' Heaven 

Is sure a noble anchor! 

Adieu, dear, amiabP routh! 

Your heart can ne'er be wanting! 
May prudence, fortitude, and truth 

Erect your brow undaunting! 
In ploughman phrase, " God send you 
speed," 

Still dail}' to grow wiser: 
And may you better reck the rede 

Than ever did th' adviser! 



EPISTLE TO MR. M'ADAM OF 
CRAIGENGILLAN. 

The following' was written on receiving a let- 
ter, congratulating him on his poetic efforts, 
from Mr. M'Adam. 

Sm, o'er a gill I gat your card, 

1 trow' it made me proud; 
*'See wha taks notice o' the bard!" 

I lap- and cried f u' loud, 

Now deil-ma-care about their jaw, 
The senseless, gawky^ million ; 

I'll cock my nose aboon them a' — 
I'm roos'd^ by Craigengillan ! 

Twas noble, sir; 'twas like yoursel, 
To grant your high protection- 

A great man's smile, ye ken fu' well, • 
Is aye a blest infection. 

riiough by his* banes wha in a tub 
Match'd Macedonian Sandy !f 

On my ain legs, through dirt and dub, 
I independent stand aye. 

1 Vow. 2 Leaped. '■^ Silly, * Praised. 

* Diogenes. 

+ Alexander the Great. 



And when those legs to guid warm 
kail,5 

Wi' welcome canna bear me; 
A lee dike-side, ** a sybow'' tail, 

And barley scone*^ shall cheer me. 

Heaven spare you lang to kiss the 
breath 

O' mony flowery simmers ! 
And bless your bonny lasses baith — 

I'm tauld they're loe'some kimmersl' 

And God bless young Dunasldn's laird, 
The blossom of our gentry! 

And may he wear an auld man's beard, 
A credit to his country. 



EPISTLE TO MAJOR. LOGAN. 

Major Logan, a retired military officer, lived 
at Park House, near Ayr, with his mother 
and sister — the latter the Miss Logan to 
whom Burns addressed some verses, with a 
present of Beattie's poems. 

Hail, thairm' inspirin', rattlin' Willie! 
Though Fortune's road be rough and 

hilly 
To every fiddling, rhyming billie. 

We never heed, 
But tak it like the unback'd filly. 

Proud o' her speed. 

When idly goavan- whiles we saunter, 
Yirr, Fancy barks, awa' we canter, 
Up hill, down brae, till some mischan- 
ter,^ 

Some black bog-hole. 
Arrests us, then the scaith and banter 

We're forced to thole. •* 

Hale be your heart! hale be your fiddle? 
Lang may your elbuck jink and did- 
dle,*^ ■ [dlc« 
To cheer you through the weary wid- 

O' this wide warl'. 
Until you on a cummock driddle'' 

A gray-hair'd carl. 



s Broth. "^ A shadv wall-side. '' The young' 
onion, s Cake. ^ Heart-enticing creatures. 

I Fiddle-string. ^ Walking aimlessly ^ Mis- 
hap. 4 Bear. '•> Elbow dodge and jerk. 
* Struggle. ''■ Until you hobble on a staflF- 

* These two lines also occur in the Second 
Epistle to Davie. 



166 



BURNS' wonivS. 



Come wealth, come poortitli*^ late or 
soon, [tune, 

Heaven send your heart-strings aye in 
And screw your temper-pins aboon, 

A fifth or mair, 
The melancholious, lazy croou^ 

O' cankrie cure! 

May still your life from day to day 

JSae lente largo in the play, 

Bvd allegretto forte gay 

Harmonious flow, 

A sweeping, kindling, bauld strath- 
spey- 
Encore! Bravo! 

A blessing on the cheery gang 
Wha dearly like a jig or sang, 
And never think ©'"right and wrang 

By square and rule, 
But as the clegs'*^ o' feeling stang 

Are wise or fool ! 

My hand-waled^^ curse keep hard in 
chase [race, 

The harpy, hoodock,'"^ purse-proud 
Wha count on poortith as disgrace — 

Their tuneless hearts! 
May fireside discords jar a base 

To a' their parts! 

But come, your hand, my careless 

brither — 
r th' ither warl', if there's anither — 
And that there is I've little swither'^ 

About the matter — 
We cheek for chow'-* shiill jog the- 
gither, 

I'se ne'er bid better. 

We've faults and failings — granted 

clearly. 
We're frail backsliding mortals merely, 
Eve's bonny squad, priests wyte'^ them 
sheerly,'^ 

For our grand fa' [ly — 
But still — but still — I like them dear- 
God bless them a' ! 

Ochon ! for poor Castalian drinkers, 
When they fa* foul o' earthly jinkers,'' 



8 Poverty. » Drone, i" Gadflies. -5 Chosen. 
" Money-loving. "^ Doubt •■» Jole. -"» Blame. 
"Sorely, i^ Sprightly girls. 



The witching, cursed, delicious blink- 
ers"* 

Hae put me hyte,'" [ers,-* 
And gart me weet my waukrife wiuk- 
Wi' giruin"-' spite. 

But by yon moon ! — and that's high 

swearin' — 
And every star within my hearin' ! 
And by her een wha was a dear ane \\ 

I'll ne'er forget; 
I hope to gie the jads'--' a clearin' 

In fair play yet. 

My loss I mourn, but not repent it, 
I'll seek my pursie whare I tint it,'^^ 
Ance to the Indies I were wonted, 

Some cantrip'-^ hour. 
By some sweet elf I'll yet be dinted. 

Then, Vide V amour ! 

Faites mes haisemnins respeciueuses. 

To sentimental sister Susie, 

And honest Lucky; no to roose"''^ ye, 

Ye may be proud. 
That sic a couple Fate allows ye 

To grace your blood. 

iSTae mair at present can I measure, 
And trouth my rhymin' ware's nae 
treasure; [leisure, 

But when in Ayr, some half hour'sf 

Be't' light, be't dark. 
Sir Bard will do himsel the pleasure 

To call at Park. 

ROBEIIT BUHNS. 
MOSSGIEL, Oct. 30, 1786. 



TO THE GUIDWIFE OF WAU- 
CHOPE HOUSE. 

Mrs. Scott of Wauchope, to whom this episr.le 
was addressed, was" a lady of considerable 
taste and talent, a writer of verse, and 
something- of an artist. She was niece to 
Mrs. Cockburn, authoress of a beautifiij 
version of '' The Flowers of the Forest." 

GUIDWIFE, 

T mind it weel, in early date, [blate,*- 
When I was beardless, young, and 
And first could thrash the barn, 



'* Pretty girls. »» Mad. 20 Sleepy evelids. 
21 Grinning. 22 Lasses. 23 Lost. 2-t W itch- 
ing. 25 Praise. 

« Bashful. 

t An allusion to the unfortunate termination 
of his courtship with Jean Armour. 



EPISTLES. 



IGT 



Or haud a yokin' at tlie pleugli; 
Aiid though forfoughten'^ sair eueugh, 
Yet unco proud to learn: 

When first amang the yellow corn 

A man 1 reckon'd was, 
And wi' the lave^ ilk merry morn 
Could rank my rig and lass, 
Still shearing, and clearing, 

The tither stooked raw, 

Wi' claivers and haivers"^ 

Wearing the day awa'. 

Even then, a wish, (I mind its power,) 
A wish that to my latest hour 

Shall strongly heave my breast — 
That I for poor auld Scotland's sake. 
Some usefu' plan or beuk could make, 
Or sing a sang at least. 
f The rough burr-thistle, spreading wide 
Amang the bearded bear, 
I turn'd the weeder-clips aside. 
And spared the symbol dear: 
No nation, no station, 

My envy e'er could raise, 
A Scot still, but blot still, 
I knew nae higher praise. 

But still the elements o' sang, 

In formless jumble right and wrang. 

Wild floated in my brain; 
Till on that liairst^ I said before, 
My partner in the merry core. 

She roused the forming strain: 
I see her yet, the sonsie quean, "^ 

That lighted up my jingle. 
Her witching smile, her pauky een. 
That gart' my heart-strings tingle ! 
I fired, inspired, 

At every kindling keek,^ 
But bashing and dasliing, 
I feared aye to speak. 

Health to the sex ! ilk guid chieP says, 
Wi' merry dance in winter-days, 

And we to share in common: 
The gust o' joy, the balm of woe, 
The saul o' life, the heaven below, 

Is rapture-giving woman. 
Ye surly sumplis, ^° who hate the name. 

Be mindfu' o' your mither: 
She, honest woman, may think shame 

That ye're connected with her. 



2 Fatio:ued. ^ Rest. * Idle stories and gossip. 
* Harvest. " Comely lass- ' Made, " Glance. 
9 Fellow. 10 Blockheads. 



Ye're wae'' men, ye're nae men. 
That slight the lovely dears; 

To shame ye, disclaim ye. 
Ilk honest birkie^^ swears. 

For you, no bred to barn and Tjyre, 
Wha sweetly tune the Scottish lyre, 
Thanks to you for your line: 
The marled plaid ye kindly spare 
By me should gratefully be ware;'^ 

'Twad please me to the Nine. 
I'd be mair vauntie*"^ c' my hap,^^ 

Douce hinghi''" owre my curple," 
Than ony ermine ever lap, 
Or proud imperial purple, 

Fareweel then, lang heal then. 

And plenty be your fa' , 
May losses and crosses 
Ne'er at your hallan'*^ ca' ! 



EPISTLE TO WILLIMI CEEECH. 

William Creech was the publisher of the first 
Edinburgh edition of the poet's works, He 
was the most celebrated publisher of his 
time in Edinburgh ; and it v/as his good 
fortune to be the medium through which 
the works of the majority of that band of 
eminent men who made Edinburgh the 
head-quarters of literature during the latter 
half of the eighteenth century, passed to 
the world. This epistle was written duvlijg 
the poet's Border tour, and whi4e Creech 
was in London. 

AUI.D chuckle^ Reekie's- sair distrest 
Down droops her ance weel-burnisht 

crest, 
Nae joy her bonny buskit^ nest 

Can yield ava,^ 
Her darling bird that she lo'es best, 

Willie's awa' ! 

Willie was a witty wight, ^ 
And had o' things an unco slight;^ 
Auld Reekie aye he keepit tight. 
And trig and braw: 
But now they'll busk her like a fright- 
Willie's awa'! 

The stifPest o' them a' he bow'd ; 
The bauldest o' them a' he cow'd; 



11 Woeful. 12 Fellow. i3 Worn, i" Proud. 
15 Covering, i"^ Bravely hanging, i^ Rump. 
18 Porch. 

1 Literally a hen. ^ Edinburgh. ^ Decor- 
ated. * At all. ^ Fellow. ^ A great knowl- 
edge. 



188 



BURNS' WORKS. 



They durst nae mair tliuii he allow'd, 

That was a hiw 
We've lost a birkie'' weel worth gowd — 

W illie's awa' ! 

Xow gawkies, tawpies, gowks/ and 

fools, 
Frae colleges and boarding-schools, 
May sprout like simmer puddock^- 
stools 

In glen or shaw; 
He wha could brush them down to 
mools^^ — 

Willie's awa'! 

The brethren o' the Commerce-Chau- 
mer* [our; 

May mourn their loss. wV doolfu' clam- 
He was a dictionar and grammar 

Amang them a'; 
I fear they'll now mak mony a stam- 
mer^' — 

Willie's awa'! 

Nae mair we see his levee door 
Philosophers and poets pour, 
And toothy critics by the score, 

In bloody raw! 
The adjutant o' a' the core 

Willie's awa'! 

Now worthy Gregory's f Latin face, 
Ty tier's^ and Greenfield's § modest 

grace, 
Mackenzie,! Stewart, IT sic a brace 

As Rome ne'er saw; 
They a' maun'- meet some ither place — 

Willie's awa' ! 

Poor Burns — e'en Scotch drink canna 
quicken, [en, 

He cheeps^^ like some bewilder'd chick- 
Scared frae its minnie'^ and the deck- 
in'^ 

By hoodie -craw. 
Grief's gien his heart an unco kickin' — 
Willie's awa ! 



^ Fellow. 8 Simpletons, sluts — gowk means 
literally cuckoo, also a fool ** Toad. ^^ The 
dust. "Stumble. '2 Must. '=i Chirps. i-* 
Mother. J'* Brood. 

* The Chamber of Commerce, of which 
Creech was secretary, 

t Dr. James Gregory. 

t Tytler of Woodhouselee. 

§ Professor of Rhetoric in the University. 

i Henry Mackenzie. 

^ Dugaid Stewart. 



Now every sour-mou'd girnin' ble.- 

lum,'*' 
And Calvin's folk, are fit to fell him; 
And self -conceited critic skellum'^ 
His quill may draw; 
He wha could brawlie'" ward their bel 
lum''-'— 

Willie's awa'! 

Up wimpling stately Tweed I've sped, 
And Eden scenes on crystal Jed, 
And Ettrick banks now roarmg red, 

While tempests blaw; 
But every joy and pleasure's fled — 

Willie's awa'! 

May I be Slander's common speech; 
A text for Infamy to preach; 
And lastly, streekit'-" out to bleach 

In winter snaw, ( 

When I forget thee, Willie Creech, 

Though far awa' ! 

May never wicked Fortune touzle^' him! 
May never wicked men bamboozle-'- 

him ! 
Until a pow-^ as auld's Methusalem 

He canty-'* claw ! 
Then to the blessed New Jerusalem, 

Fleet wing awa' ! 



EPISTLE TO HUGH PARKER. 

Mr. Hugh Parker was a Kilmarnock merchant, 
and an early friend and admirer of the 
poet's. 

Ix this strange land, this ^ uncouth 

clime, 
A land unknown to prose or rhyme; 
Where words ue'er crost the muse's 

heckles,* 
Nor limpet' in poetic shackles; 
A land that Prose did never view it. 
Except when drunlt he stachert- 

through it; 
Here, ambush'd by the chimla cheek, ^ 
Hid in an atmosphere of reek,-* 
I hear a wheel thrum i the neuk,^ 
I hear it — for in vain I leuk. 



I"' Talking fellow. '' A term of contempt. 
^"^ Easily, i'-* Attacks. '■^° Stretched. -* Teaze. 
22 Bother. 23 Head. 2* Cheerful. 

^ Limped. '- Staggered. ^ Chimney corner. 
* Smoke. ^ Corner. 

* A series of sharp-pointed spikes through 
which flax is drawn i;i dressing u for manu- 
facture. Its application here is obvious. 3 



EPISTLES. 



1G9 



The red peat gleams, a fiery kernel, 
Enliusked by a fog infernal: 
Here, for my wonted rhyming raptures, 
I sit and count my sins by ciiapters; 
For life and spunk like irher Christians, 
I'm dwindled down to mere existence; 
Wi' nae converse but Gallowa bodies, 
Wi' nae kenn'd face but Jenny Ged- 

des.f 
Jenny, my Pegasean pride ! 
Dowie'' she saunters do\vn Nithside, 
And aye a westlin leuk she throws. 
While tears hap'' o'er her auld brown 

nose ! 
Was it for this vn' canny^ care, 
Thou bure the bard through many a 

shire ? 
At howes^ or hillocks never stumbled, 
And late or early never grumbled V 
Oh, had I power like inclination, 
I'd heeze^" thee up a constellation, 
To canter with the Sagitarre, 
Or loup the ecliptic like a bar; 
Or turn the pole like any arrow; 
Or, when auld Phoebus bids good-mor- 
row, 
Down the zodiac urge the race, 
And cast dirt on his godship's face; 
For I could lay my bread and kail 
He'd ne'er cast saut upo' thy tail. 
Wi' a' this care and a' this grief, 
And sma,' sma' prospect of relief. 
And nought but peet-reek i' my head, 
IIow can I write what ye can read ? 
Torbolton, twenty-fourth o' June, 
Ye'll find me in a better tune: 
But till we meet and weet'^ our whistle, 
Tak this excuse for nae epistle. 

Robert Burns. 



FIRST EPISTLE TO R. GRAHAM, 

ESQ., OF FINTRY. 

Robert Graham of Fintry was a Commis- 
sioner of Excise. 

W^iiEN Nature her great masterpiece 
design'd, [human mind. 

And framed her last, best work, the 
Her eye intent on all the mazy plan, 
&-ie form'd of various parts the various 
man. 

« Sadly. 7 Hop. s Gentle. ^ Hollows, i" 
Eaise. 11 Wet. 
t The poet's mare. 



Then first she calls the useful many 

forth; [worth: 

Plain plodding industry and sober 
Thence peasants, farmers, native sons 

of earth, [their birth: 

And merchandise' whole genus take 
Each prudent cit a warm existence 

finds, [kinds. 

And all mechanics' many - apron'd 
Some other rarer sorts are wanted yet, 
The lead and buoy are needful to the 

net: 
The caput 7iiortaum of gross desires 
Makes a material for mere knights and 

squires, [flow, 

The martial phosphorus is taught to 
She kneads the lumpish philosophic 

dough, [grave designs, 

Then marks th' unjdelding mass with 
Law, physic, politics, and deep divines: 
Last, she sublimes th' Aurora of the 

poles, 
The flashing elements of female souls. 

The ordei'd system fair before her stood, 
Xature, well-pleased, pronounced it 

very good: 
But ere she gave creating labour o'er. 
Half -jest, she tried one curious labour 

more. 
Some spumy, fiery ?>/?^^6*-/<^J^ww5 matter. 
Such as the slightest breath of air 

might scatter; 
With arch alacrity and conscious glee 
(Nature may have her whim as well as 

we, [show it) 

Her Hogarth-art perhaps she meant to 
She forms the thing, and christens it — 

a Poet, [and sorrow, 

Creature, though oft the prey of care 
When blest to-day, unmindful of to- 
morrow. 
A being form'd t' amuse his graver 

friends. 
Admired and praised — and there the 

homage ends: 
A mortal quite unfit for Fortune's strife. 
Yet oft the sport of all the ills of life; 
Prone to enjoy each pleasure riches 
^give, 

1 et haply wanting wherewithal to live; 
Longing to wipe each tear, to heal 

each groan. 
Yet frequent all unheeded in his own. 

But honest Nature is not quite a Turk, 



170 



BURNS' WORK$ 



Slie laugli'd at first, then felt for her 
poor work, [kind, 

Pitying the propless climber of man- 
Shecast about a standard tree to find, 
And, to support his helpless woodljine 
state, [great, 

Attached him to the generous truly 
A title, and the only one I claim, 
To lay stiong hold for help on boun- 
teous Graham. 

Pity the tuneful Muses' hapless tram, 
Weak, timid landsmen on life's stormy 

main! [stuff. 

Their hearts no selfish stern, absorbent 
That never gives — though humbly 

takes enough; [soon, 

The little fate allows, they share as 
Unlike !-:age, proverb'd, wisdom's hard 

wrung boon. [depend, 

The world were blest did bliss on them 
Ah, that ''the friendly e'er should 

want a friend!" [son. 

Let prudence number o*er each sturdy 
Who life, and wisdom at one race be- 
gun, [rule, 
Who feel by reason and w^ho give by 
(Instinct's a brute, and sentiment a 

fool!) [should— 

Who make poor icill do wait upon / 
We own they're prudent, but who feels 

they're good ? [eye ! 

Ye wise ones, hence! ye hurt the socia.1 
God's image rudely etch'd on base 

alloy I 

But come, ye who the godlike, pleasure 
know, [bestow ! 

Heaven's attribute distinguish'd — to 
Whose arms of love would grasp the 
human race [tier's grace; 

Come thou who givest %vitli all a cour 
Friend of my life, true patron of my 
rhymes ! [times 

Prop of my dearest hopes for future 
Why shrinks my soul half blushing, 
half-afraid, [aid "( 

Backward, abash'dtoask thy friendly 
1 know my need, 1 know thy giving 
hand, [mand, 

1 crave thy friendship at thy kind com- 
But there are such who court the tune- 
ful Nine — [be mine! 
Heavens ! should the branded character 
W^hose verse in manhood's pride 
sublimely flows, 



Yet vilest reptiles in their begging 

prose. 
Mark, how their lofty, independent 

spirit [merit! 

Soars on the spurning wing oi injured 
Seek not the proofs in private life to 

find, [wind! 

Pity the best of words should be but 
So to heaven's gate the lark's shril' 

song ascends, 
But grovelling on the earth the caroi 

ends. 

In all the clam'rous cry of starving 

want, [front ; 

They dun benevolence with shameless 
Oblige them, patronise their tinsel lays, 
They persecute you ail your future 

days! [stain, 

Ere my poor soul such deep damnation 
My horny fist assume the plough again, 
The piebald jacket let me patch once 

more, [fore. 

On eigliteenpence a week I've lived be- 
Though, thanks to Heaven, I dare even 

that last shift! . [gift; 

I trust, meantime, my boon is in thy 
That, placed by thee upon the wislrd 

for height, [sight. 

Where, man and nature fairer in her 
My Muse may imp her wing for some 

sublimer iii_}it. 



EPISTLE TO JAMES TAIT OF 

GLENCONNER. 
AuLD comrade dear, and briflier sinner. 
How's a' tlie folk about Glenconner? 
How do ye this blae eastlin win', 
Tliat's like to blaw a body blin'? 
For me, my faculties are frozen, 
My dearest member nearly dozen,' 
I've sent you here, by Johnnie Simson, 
Twa sage philosophers to glimpse on ! 
Smith, wi' his sympathetic feeling. 
And Reid, to common sense appealing. 
Philosophers have fought an wrangled, 
And meikle Greek and Latin mangled, 
Till wi' their logic-jargon tired. 
And in the depth of science mired, 
To common sense tbey now appeal. 
What wives and wabsters- see and feel. 
But, hark, ye, fneii'! I charge you 
strictlv, 



1 Numbed. ^^ Weavers. 



EPISTLES. 



17i 



Peruse tliem, and return tliem quickly, 
For now I'm grown sae cursed douce^ 
I pray and ponder butt the house; 
My shins, my lane,-* I there sit roastin'. 
Perusing Bunyan, Brown and Boston; 
TlTi by and by, if I haud on, 
111 grunt a real gospel-groan: 
Already I begin to try it, 
Tc cast my een up like a pyet,^ 
When by the gun she tumbles o'er, 
Fluttering and gasping in her gore : 
Sae shortly you sliall see me bright, 
A burning and a shining light. 

My heart-warm love to guid auld Glen, 
The ace and wale'' of honest men : 
^Vhen bending down wi' auld gray 

hairs, 
Beneath the load of years and cares, 
May he who made him still support him. 
And views beyond the grave comfort 

him , 
His worthy family, far and near, 
God bless them a' wi' grace and gear ! 

My auld schoolfellow, preacher Willie, 
The manly tar, my mason Billie, 
And Auchenbay, I wish him joy; 
If he's a parent, lass or boy, 
May he be dad, and Meg the mither. 
Just five-and-forty years thegither ! 
And no forgetting Wabster Charlie, 
I'm tauld he offers very fairly. 
And, Lord, remember singing Sannock 
Wi' hale-breeks,'' saxpence, and a ban- 
nock.^ [cy. 
And next my auld acquaintance, Nan- 
Since she is fitted to her fancy; 
And her kind stars hae airted^ till her 
A good chiel wi' a pickle siller. ^^ 
My kindest, best respects I sen' it. 
To cousin Kate and sister Janet; [tious. 
Tell them, frae me, wi' cliiels^^ be cau- 
For, faith, they'll aiblins''^ fin' them 
fashions;'^ 

To grant a heart is fairly civil. 
But to grant a maidenhead's the devil. 
And lastly, Jamie, for yoursel, 
May guardian angels tak a spell. 
And steer you seven miles south o' hell: 
But first, before you see heaven's glory, 
May ye get mony a merry story, 



3 Serious. * By myself. ^ Mag-pie. ^ 
Choice. '' Whole breeches. ^ Qat cake. 
^Directed, ^o Some money, ii Fellows. ^2 
Perhaps. ^^ Troublesome. 



Mony a laugh, and mony a drink. 
And aye eneugh o' needfu' clink. '^ 

Now fare ye weel, and joy be wi' you; 
For my sake this I beg it o' you. 
Assist poor Simson a' ye can, 
Ye'll find him just an honest man; 
Sae I conclude, and quat my chanter, 
Yours, saint or sinner, 

Rob the Ranter. 



EPISTLE TO DR. BLACKLOCK, 

IN ANSWER TO A LETTER. 

Dr. Blacklock, the blind poet, had been edu- 
cated for the Church, but in consequence of 
his blindness was disappointed of a charge. 
He kept a boarding-school for young men 
attending college. He was much respected 
by the literati of the town ; but, what is 
more important, it was his letter to Mr. 
Georgie Lawrie of Kilmarnock, the friend 
of Burns, which tired the poet's ambition, 
and induced his visit to Edinburgh, and the 
abandonment of his projected departure for 
the West Indies. 

Ellisl.\nd, October 21, 1789. 

Wow, but your letter made me vaun- 

tie!' 
And are ye hale, and weel, and cantie?"- 
I kenn'd it still your wee bit j auntie 

Wad bring you to: 
Lord send you aye as weel's I want ye. 
And then ye'll do. 

The ill-thief blaw the Heron* south ! 
And never drink be near his drouth!^ 
He tauld mysel, by word o' mouth. 

He'd tak my letter; 
I lippen'd'* to the chiel in trouth^ 

And bade'' nae better. 

But aiblins honest Master Heron 
Had at the time some dainty fair one 
To ware'^ his theologic care on. 

And holy study; 
And tired o' sauls to waste his lear^ on. 

E'en tried the body. 

But what d'ye think, my trusty fier,^ 
I'm turn'd a ganger^'' — Peace be here ! 

'■* Moncv. 

1 Proud. - Cheerful, ^'i hirst. * Trusted. 
5 A petty oath. <^ Deserved. " Spend. ^ Learn- 
ing. ^ Friend. ^^ Exciseman. 

* " Heron, author of a History of Scotland 
published in 1800 ; and, among various other 
works, of a respectable life of our poet him- 
self." — CURRIE. 



172 



BURNS' WORKS. 



Parnassiau queans," I fear, I fear, 
Ye'llnow disdain me! 

And then my fifty pounds a year 
Will little gain me. 

Ye glaikit,'^gleesome, dainty damies, 
Wlia, by Castalia's wimplin' streamies, 
Lowp,''' sing, and lave your pretty 
limbics . 

Ye ken, ye ken, 
That Strang Necessity supreme is, 

'Mang sons o' men. 

I hae a wife and twa wee laddies, 
They maun hae brose and brats o' 
duddies ^^ [is 

l^e ken yoursels my heart right proud 

I needna vaunt, ^° 
But I'll sned besoms^*' thraw saugh 
woodies,''' 

Before they want. 

Lord, help me through this world o' 

care ! 
I'm weary sick o't late and air;'^ 
Not but 1 hae a richer share 

Than mony ithers , 
But why should ae man better fare, 

And a' men brithers ? 

Come, finn Resolve, take thou the van. 
Thou stalk o' carl -hemp in man !f 
And let us mind, faint heart ne'er wan 

A lady fair- 
Wha does the utmost that he can. 

Will whiles^^ do mair. 

conclude my silly rhyme, 
(I'm scant o' verse, and scant o' time,) 
To make a happy fire-side clime. 

To weans-'*^ and wife; 
That's the true pathos and sublime 

Of human life. 

My compliments to sister Beckie; 
And eke the same to honest Lucky, 



11 Lasses. 12 Foolish 13 jump. 1* Rags 

o' clothing. 1^ Boast. i^Cut brooms. ^' 

Twist willow withes. 1** Early. i^ Some- 
times. 20 Children. 

t The male hemp— that which bears the 
seed. ' Ye have a stalk o' carl-hemp in you," 
is a Scotch remark, and means that a man has 
more stamina in him than ordinary. 



I wat she is a dainty cliuckie,| 
As e'er tread clay ! 

And gratefully, my guid auld' cockie§ 
I'm yours for aye. 

Robert Burns. 



SECOND EPISTLE TO 

ROBERT GRAHAM, ESQ., OF 

FINTRY,. 

ON THE CLOSE OF THE DISPUTED ELEC 
TION BETWEEN SIR JAMES JOHNSTON 
AND CAPTAIN MILLER, FOR TIIL 
DUMFRIES DISTRICT OF BOROUGHS. 

FiNTRY, my stay in wordly strife. 
Friend o' my Muse, friend o' my life, 

Are ye as idle's I am ? 
Come tliev, wi' uncouth, kintra Heg,^ 
O'er Pegasus I'll fling my leg. 

And ye shall see me try hira. 

I'll sing the zeal Drumlanrig* bears, 
Wha left the all important cares 

Of princes and tlieir darlin's; 
And, bent on winning borough touns, 
Came shaking hands wi' wabster louns, 

And kissing barefit carlins- 

Combustion through our boroughs rode. 
Whistling his roaring pack abroad. 

Of mad, unmuzzled lions; 
As Queensberry " bufE and blue" 

unfurl'd,' 
And Westerha'f Hopetoun hurl'd 

To every Whig defiance. 

But cautious Queensberry left the war, 
The unmanner'd dust might soil his 
star; 

Besides, he hated bleeding: 
But left behind him heroes bright. 
Heroes in Cgesarean figlit, 

Or Ciceronian pleading 



1 Country kick. 2 Barefooted women. 

t Chuckie— literally, hen. Often used as a 
familiar term of endearment in speaking of a 
female. 

§ Cockie— literally, cock. Used in the same 
way as chuckie. 

* The fourth Duke of Queensberry, of in- 
famous memory. 

t Sir James Johnston, the Tory candidate. 



EPISTLE?^. 



178 



Oil, for a throat like huge Mons-Meg, 
To muster o'er each ardent Whig 

Beneath Drumlanrig's banners, 
Heroes and heroines commix, 
All in the field of politics. 

To win immortal honours. 

M'Murdo:}: and his lovely spouse 

(Til' enaniour'd laurels kiss her brows !) 

Led on the Loves and Graces: 
>lie won each gaping burgess' heart, 
While he, all conquering, play'd his 
part 

Amang their wives and lasses. 

Craigdarrocli§ led a light-ann'd corps; 
Tropes, metaphors, and figures pour, 

Lilce Hecla streaming thunder: 
Glenriddel, || skill'd in rusty coins, 
Blevv^ up each Tory's dark designs, 

And bared the treason under. 

In either wing two champions fought. 
Redoubted Staig,*^ who set at nought 

The wildest savage Tory; 
And Welsh,** who ne'er yet flinch'd 

his ground, 
High- waved his magnum-bonum round 

With Cyclopean fury. 

Miller brought up the artillery ranks. 
The many-pounders of the Banks, 

Resistless desolation ! 
While Maxwelton, that baron bold, 
Mid Lawson'sff port entrench'd his 
hold. 

And threaten'd worse damnation. 

To these, what Tory hosts opposed; 
With these, what Tory warriors closed, 

Surpasses my discriving: 
Squadrons extended long and large, 
V/itli furious speed rusli'd to the 
charge, 

Like raging devils driving. 

lYhat verse can sing, what proso 
narrate, 

t Chamberlain of the Duke of Queensberry 
?.l Drumlanrig, and a friend of the poet's. 

§ Fergusson of Craigdarroch. 
II Captain Riddel of Glenriddel, anothei 
friend of the poet's. 
5 Provor.t Staig of Dumfries. 
** Sheriff Welsh, 
ft A wine merchant in Dumfries. 



The butcher deeds of bloody Fate 

Amid this mij-liry tulzie \^ 
Grim Horror grinu d — pale Terror 

roar'd. 
As Murther at his thrapple shored,* 

And Hell mix'd in the bruizie f' 

As Highland crags by thunder cleft, 
When lightnings fire the stormy lifo,'^ 

Hurl down wi' crashing mttle: 
As flames amang a hundred woods; 
As headlong foam a hundred floods; 

Such is the rage of battle! 

The stubborn Tories dare to die; 
As soon the rooted oaks would fly 

Before tli' approaching fellers: 
The Whigs come on like Ocean's roar; 
When all his wintry billows pour 

Against the Buchan Bullers-ift 

Lo, from the shades of Death's deep 

night. 
Departed Whigs enjoy the fight. 

And think on former daring: 
The muffled mAirtherer of Charles g § 
The Magna- Charta flag unfurls. 

All deadly gules its bearing. 

Nor. wanting ghosts of Toiy fame. 
Bold Scrimgeour 1 1| follows gallart 
Grahame,^*! 

Auld Covenanters shiver. 
(Forgive, forgive, much-wrong'd Mon- 
trose! 
While death and hell ingulf thy foes, 
Thou liv'st on high forever!) 

Still o'er the field the combat burns, 
The Tories, Whigs, give way by turns; 

But Fate the word has spoken; 
For woman's wit and strength o' man, 
Alas! can do but what they can — 

The Tory ranks are broken! 

Oh tliat mv een were flowino- burns! 



3 Conflict. 4 Threatened. ^ Broil, c pir. 
mament, 

tt The " BuUers of Buchan" is an appella- 
tion given to a tremendous rocky recess on 
the A'oerdeenshire coast, near Peterhead — 
having an opening to the sea, while the top is 
open. The sea, constantly raging in it. gives 
it the appearance of a pot or boiler, and hence 
the name. 

§§ The executioner of Charles I. was 
Jnasked. 

Hit John Enrl of Dundee. 

1^ The great Marquis of Montrose. 



174 



BURNS' WORKS. 



My voice a lioness that mourns 

Her darling cub's undoing! 
That I might greet, that 1 might cry, 
While Tories fall, while Tories fly. 
And furious Whigs pursuing! 

What Whig but wails the good Sir 

James ? 
Dear to his country by the names 
Friend, patron, benefactor! 
Not Pulteney's wealth can Pulteney 
save, [brave! 

And Hopetoun falls, the generous 
And Stewart,*** bold as Hector. 

Thou, Pitt, slialt rue this overthrow, 
And Thurlow growl a curse of woe; 

And Melville melt in wailing! 
Kow Fox and Sheridan rejoice! 
And Burke shall sing, ' ' Prince arise ! 

Thy power is all prevailing." 

for your poor friend, the bard afar 
Ho hears, and only hears, the war, 

A cool spectator purely; 
So v.lien the storm the forest rends, 
The robin in the hedge descends, 

And sober chirDS securely. 

Additional verse ^n Close ourn MS. — 

Now for my friends' and brethren's 

sakes, 
And for my dear-loved Land o' Cakes, 

1 pray with holy fire: 
Lord, send a rough-shod troop o' hell, 
O'er a' wad Scotland buy or sell, 

To grind them in the mire 



THIRD EPISTLE TO ROBERT 
GRAHAM, ESQ., OF FIXTRY 

Late crippled of an arm, and now a 

leg,* 
About to beg a pass for leave? to beg 
Dull, listless, teased, dejected, and 

deprest, 



*** Stewart of Hillside. 

* Burns wrote to Mrs Dunlop, on the 7th of 
Febru::ry, 1791, " that, by a fall, not from my 
horse, but with my horse, I have been a 
cripple for some time, and this is the first day 
my arm and hand have been able to serve me 
m writing.*' 



(Nature is adverse to a cripple's lest.) 
Will generous Graham list to his 

poet's wail ? [her talc.) 

(It soothes poor Misery, heark'ning to 
And hear him curse the light he first 

survey 'd, [trade 1 

And doubly curse the luckless rhyming 

Thou, Nature ! partial Nature 1 I 

arraign; 
Of thy caprice maternal I complain. 
The lion and the bull thy care have 

found. 
One shakes the forests, and one spurn:; 

the ground- 
Thou giv'st the ass his hide, llie fiiall 

his shell, 
Th' envenom'd wasp, victorious, guards; 

his cell; 
Thy minions, kings, defend, control. 

devour, [power; 

In all th' omnipotence of rule and 
Foxes and statesmen subtle wiles 

insure; [secure, 

The cit and polecat stink, and are 
Toads with their poison, doctors with 

their drug, 
The priest and hedgehog in their robes 

are snug; 
Even silly woman has her warlike arts. 
Her tongue and eyes — her dreaded 

spear and darts. [hard. 

But, oh ! thou bitter stepmother and 
To thy poor, fenceless, naked child — 

the bard ! 
A thing unteachable in wordly skill, 
And half an idiot, too, more helpless 

still; [dun/ 

No heels to bear him from the opening- 
No claws to dig, his hated sight to 

shun; [worn. 

No horns, but those by luckless Hymen 
And those, alas ! not x\malthea's horn: 
No nerves olfactory. Mammon's trusty 

cur, [fur; — 

Clad in rich Dullness' comfortable 
In naked feeling, and m aching pride, 
He bears the unbroken blast from 

every side [heart. 

Vampire booksellers drain him to the 
And scorpion critics curseless venom 

dart. 



Critics ! — appall'd I venture on the 
[of fame: 
the paths 



name. 
Those cut-throat bandits in 



EPISTLES. 



175 



Bloody dissectors, worse tlian ten 

Monroes !f [expose. 

He hacks to teach, they mangle to 

His heart by causeless wanton malice 

wrung, [stung 

By blockheads' daring into madness 
His well-won bays, than life itself 

more dear, [spi'ig must wear. 

By miscreants torn, who ne'er one 
Foil'd, bleeding, tortured, in the 

unequal strife, [lifer 

The hapless poet flounders on through 
Till, fled each hope that once his bosom 

fired, [inspired. 

And fled each nmse that glorious once 
Low sunk in squalid unprotected age. 
Dead, even reseiitment, for his injured 

page. [less critic's rage. 

He heeds or feels no more the rutli- 
So, by some hedge, the generous steed 

deceased, [feast. 

For iialf-starved snarling curs a dainty 
By toil and famine Avorn to skin and 

bone, [son. 

Lies senseless of each tugging bitch's 

Dullness ! portion of the truly blest ! 
Calm'd shelter'd haven of eternal rest ! 
Thy sons ne'er madden in the fierce 

extremes 
Of Fortune's polar frost, or torrid beams. 
It mantling high she fills the golden 

cup, 
^^*ith sober selfish ease they sip it up : 
Conscious the bounteous meed they 

well deserve, [not starve. 

They only wonder ' ' some folks " do 
The grave sage hern thus easy picks 

his frog, [less dog. 

And thinks the mallard a sad worth- 
When disappointment suajjs the clue 

of Hope, [darkling grope. 

And through disastrous night they 
With deaf endurance sluggishly they 

bear, [fortune's care." 

And just conclude that "fools are 
So, heavy, passive to the tempest's 

shocks, [stupid ox. 

Strong on the sign-post stands the 

t The allusion here is to Alexander Munro, 
the distinguished Professor of Anatomy in 
the University of Edinburgh in Burns' day. 



Not so the idle'jMuse's mad-cap train, 
Not such the vsorkings of their moon- 

struclv brain ! 
In equanimity they never dwell, 
By turns in soaring heaven or vaulted 

hell. 

I dread thee, Fate, relentless and 

severe, [fear ! 

With all a poet's, husband's, father's 
Already one stronghold of hope is lost — 
Glencairn. the truly noble, lies in dust; 
(Fled, like the sun eclipsed as noon 

appears, tears :) 

And left us darkling in a world of 
Oh ! hear my ardent, gratefuj, selfish 

prayer ! — [spare ! 

Fintry, my other stay, long bless and 
Through a long life his hopes and 

wishes crown, [go down ! 

And bright in cloudless skies his sun 
May bliss domestic smooth his private 

path, • [latest breath. 

Give energy to life, and soothe his 
With many a filial tear circling the bed 

of death ! 



FOURTH EPISTLE TO ROBERT 

GRAHAM, ESQ., OF FINTRl. 

The following- verses were written in ac- 
knowledgment of the favour the previous 
epistle prayed for. 

I CALL no goddess to inspire my strains, 
A fabled Muse may suit a bard that 
feigns; [burns. 

Friend of my life ! my ardent spirit 
And all the tribute of my heart returns. 
For boons accorded, goodness ever new, 
The gift still dearer, as the giver you. 

Thou orb of day ! thou other paler 
light ! [night; 

And all ye many sparkling stars of 

If aught that giver from my mind 
efface; 

If I that giver's bounty e'er disgrace ; 

Then roll to me along your wandering 
spheres. 

Only to number out a villain's yeaxs ! 



EPIGRAMS, EPITAPHS, ETC. 



THOUGH FICKLE FORTUNE HAS 
DECEIVED ME. 

'' The following," says Burns, "was written 
extempore, under the pressure of a heavy 
train of misfortunes, which, indeed, threat- 
ened to undo me altogether. It was just at 
the close of that dreadful period mentioned 
already (in Commonplace-book, March, 
1784) ; and though the weather has bright- 
ened up a little with me since, yet there has 
always been a tempest brewing round me 
in the grim sky of futurity, which I pretty 
plainly see will, some time or other, per- 
haps ere long, overwhelm me, and drive" me 
into some doleful dell, to pine in sohtary, 
squalid wretchedness." 

Though fickle Fortune lias deceived 
me, [ill; 

She promised fair and perform'd but 
Of mistress, friends, and wealth be- 
reaved me, [still. 
Yet I bear a heart shall support me 

I'll act w-itli prudence as f ar's I'm able, 
But if success I must never find, 

Then come. Misfortune, I bid thee wel- 
come, [mind. 
I'll meet thee with an undaunted 



ON JOHN DOVE, INNKEEPER, 
MAUCHLINE. 

Here lies Johnny Pigeon; 
V\'liat was his religion ? 

Whae'er desires to ken,^ 
To some other warl' 
Maun follow the carl,' 

For here Johnny Pigeon had uane! 



Strong ale was ablution- 
Small beer per.^cution, 

A dram was memento mori; 
But a full flowing bowl 
Was the saving his soul. 

And port was celestial glory. 



TO A PAINTER. 

While in Edinburgh, the poet paid a visit ta 
the studio of a well-known painter, whom 
he found at work on a picture of Jacob's 
Dream ; and having looked at the sketch foi 
a little, he wrote "the following verses on 
the back of it : — 

Dear , I'll gie ye some advice. 

You'll tak it no uncivil: 
You shouldna paint at angels mair, 

But try to paint the devil. ^ 

To paint an angel's kittle wark, 
Wi' auld Nick there's less danger; 

You'll easy draw a weel-kent face, 
But no sae weel a stranger. 

R. B. 



1 Know. - Old man. 



EPITAPH ON THE AUTHOR'S 
FATHER. 

The following hnes were inscribed on a small 
headstone erected over the grave of the 
poet's father, in AUoway Kirkyard :— 

O YE whose cheek the tear of pity 
stains; [attend! 

Draw near with pious reverence, and 
Here lie the ]oviughufeband's dear re- 
mains, ■ [friend; 
The tender father, and the generou* 



EPIGRAMS, EPITAPHS, Etc, 



177 



Tiie pitying heart that felt for human 
woe ; [human pride ; 

The dauntless heart that fear'd no 
The friend of man, to vice alone a foe: 
' For even his failings lean'd to vir- 
tue's side."* 



A FAREWELL. 

These lines form the conclusion of a letter 
from Burns to Mr. John Kennedy, dated 
Kilmarnock, August, 1786. 

Farewell, dear friend! may guid 

luck hit you, 
And, 'maug her favourites admit you \ 
If e'er Detraction shone to smite you, 

May nane believe him! 
And ony deil that thinks to get you. 

Uood Lord deceive him. 



ON A WAG IN MAUCHLINE. 

The wag here meant was James Smith, the 
James Smith of the epistle commencing 
" Dear Smith, the sleest, pawkie thief." 

Lament him, Mauchline husbands a', 

He aften did assist ye; 
For had ye staid whole years awa', 

Your wives they ne'er had miss'd ye. 
Ye Mauchline bairns, as on ye pass 

To school in bands thegither, 
Oh, tread ye lightly on his grass — 

Perhaps he was your father. 



POETICAL REPLY TO AN INVI- 
TATION. 

MOSSGIEL, 1786. 

Sir, 
incurs this moment I unseal, 

And faith, I am gay and hearty! 
To tell the truth and shame the deil, 

I am as fou as Bartie:f 

"But foorsday, sir, my promise leal, 

Expect me o' your party, 
If on a beastie I can speel, 

Or hurl in a cartie. — R. B. 



TO A YOUNG LADY IN A 
CHURCH. 

During the poet's Border tour, he went to 
church one Sunday, accomp anied by Miss 
* Goldsmith. 

t A proverbial saying, which may be inter- 
preted by aline of an old song : — 

" I'm no just fou, but I'm gayley yet." 



Ainslie, the sister of his traveling compan- 
ion. The text for the day happened to con- 
tain a severe denunciation of obstinate sin- 
ners : and Burns, observing the young lady 
intently turning over the leaves of her Bible 
in search of the passage, took out a small 
piece of paper, and wrote the following 
lines upon it, which he immediately passed 
to her :— 

Fair maid, you need not take the hint. 

Nor idle tests pursue; 
'Twas guilty 'dnners that he meant. 

Not angds such as you ! 



VERSES 
written under the portrait of 
fergusson, the poet, in a copy o? 

THAT author's WORKS PRESENTED 
to a young lady in EDINBURGH, 

MARCH, 17, 1787. 

Cltrse on ungrateful nian, that can ba 
pleased, [pleasure ! 

And yet can starve the author of the 
Othou, my elder brother in misfortime, 
By far my elder brother in the Muses, 
With tears I pity thy unhappy fate ! 
Why is the bard unpitied by the world, 
Yet has so keen a relish of its pleasures? 



ON THE ILLNESS OP A FAVOUR- 
ITE CHILD. 

Now health forsakes that angel face, 
Nae mair my dearie smiles; 

Pale sickness withers ilka grace, 
And a' my hopes beguiles. 

The cruel Powers reject the prayer 

I hourly mak for thee ! 
Ye heavens, how great is my despair, 

How can I see him die ! 



EXTEMPORE ON TWO LAWYERS. 

During Burns' first sojourn in Edinburgh, in 
1787, he paid a visit to the Parliament ■ 
House, and the result was two well-drawn \i 
sketches of the leading counsel of the dav— f 
the Lord Advocate, Mr. Hay Campbell, 
(afterwards Lord President), and the Dean 
of Faculty, Harrj' Erskine. 

LORD ADVOCATE. 

He clench'd his pamphlets in his fist. 
He quoted and he hinted, 



178 



BURNS' WORKS. 



Till in a declamation mist 
His argument he tint' it; 

He gaped for 't, he graped'^ for 't, 
He found it was awa', man; 

But what his common sense cam short, 
He eked out wi' law, man. 

DEAN OF FACULTY. 

Collected Harry stood a wee, 

Then open'd out his arm, man; 
His lordship sat wi' ruef u' ee, 

And eyed the gathering storm, man: 
Like wind- driven hail, it did assail. 

Or torrents owre a linn, man ; 
The Bench sae wise, lift up their eyes, 

Half-waken'd wi' the din, man. 



THE HIGHLAND WELCOME. 

When Death's dark stream I ferry o'er, 

A time that surely shall come; 
In heaven itself I'll ask no more 
' Than just a Highland welcome. 



EXTEMPORE ON WILLIAM 
SMELLIE, 

AUTHOR OF THE "PHILOSOPHY OF 
NATURAL HISTORY," AND MEMBER 
OF THE ANTIQUARIAN AND ROYAL 
SOCIETIES OF EDINBURGH. 

Smellie belonged to a club called the Crochal- 
lan Fencibles, of which Burns was a mem- 
ber. 

Shrewd Willie Smellie to Crochallan 
came, [the same; 

The old cock'd hat, the gray surtout, 
His bristling beard just rising in its 
might, [shaving night; 

'Twas four long nights and days to 
His uncomb'd grizzly locks ^\ild star- 
ing, thatch'd [unmatch'd; 
A head for thought profound and clear 
Yet though his caustic wit was biting, 
rude, [good. 
His heart was warm, benevolent, and 

1 Lost. 2 Groped. 



VEi^ SES WRITTEN ON A 

WINDOW OF THE INN 

AT CARRON. 

The following lines were written on being 
refused admittance to the Carron iron- 



We cam na here to view your warks 

In hopes to be mair wise, 
But only lest we gang to hell, ^ 

It may be nae surprise: 

But when we tirled at your door. 
Your porter dought nahear us; 

Sae may, should we to hcU's yetts come 
Your billy Satan sair us ! 



LINES ON VIEWING STIRLING 

PALACE. 

The following lines were scratched with a 
diamond on a pane of glass in a window of 
the Inn at which Burns put up, on the occa- 
sion of his first visit to Stirling. They were 
quoted to his prejudice at the time, and no 
doubt did him no good with those who 
could best serve his interests. On his next 
visit to Stirling, he smashed the pane with 
the butt-end of his riding whip :— 

Here Stuarts once in glory reign'd, 
And laws for Scotland's weal oidain'd; 
But now unroof 'd their palace stands, 
Their sceptre's sway'd by other hands; 
The injured Stuart line is gone, 
A race outlandish fills their throne — 
An idiot race, to honour lost: [most. 
Who know them best despise them 

THE REPROOF. 

Rash mortal, and slanderous poet, thy 
name [of fame: 

Shall no longer appear in the records 

Dost not know, that old Mansfield, 
who writes like the Bible, 

Says, The more 'tis a truth, sir, the 
more 'tis a libel ? 



LINES 

WRITTEN UNDER THE PICTXmE OF TS'B 
CELEBRATED MISS BLTINS. 

Cease, ye prudes, your envious railing. 
Lovely Burns has charms — confess. 

True it is, she had one failing — 
Had a woman ever less ? 



EPIGRAJVIS, EPITAPHS, Etc. 



ON INCIVILITY SHOWN TO HIM 

AT INVERARY. 

The i>oet having halted at Inverary during 
his first Highland tour, put up at the inn : 
but on finding himself neglected by the 
landlord, whose house was filled with visit- 
ors to the Duke of Argyle, he resented the 
incivility in the following lines : — 

Whoe'er he be that sojourns here, 

I pity much his case, 
Unless he come to wait upon 

The lord their god, his Grace. 

There's nathing here but Highland 
pride. 

And Highland cauld and hunger; 
If Providence has sent me here, 

'Twas surely in His anger. 



ON A SCHOOLMASTER. 

Here lie Willie Michie's banes; 

O Satan, when ye tak him, 
Gie him the schoolin' o' your weans. 

For clever deils he '11 inak 'em ! 



VERSES 

ADDRESSED TO THE LANDLADY OF THE 
INN AT ROSSLYN. 

My blessings on you, sonsie wife; 

I ne'er was here before; [knife, 

You've gien us walth for horn and 

Nae heart could wish for more. 

Heaven keep you free frae care and 
strife, 

Till far ayont fourscore; 
And, while I toddle on through life, 

I'll ne'er gang by your door. 



INNOCENCE. 

Innocence 
Looks gayly-smiling on; while rosy 

Pleasure [wreath, 

Hides young Desire amid her flowery 
And pours her cup luxuriant; mantling 

high [and Bliss ! 

The sparkling heavenly vintage — Love 



ON ELPHINSTONE'S TRANSLA- 
TION OF MARTIAL'S " EPI- 
GRAMS." 

"■ Stopping at a merchant's shop in Edin- 
burgh," says Burns, ''a friend of mine one 
day put Elphinstone's translation of Martial 
into my hand, and desired my opinion of it. 
I asked permission to write my opinion on a 
blank leaf of the book ; which being grant-^ 
ed, I wrote this epigram:" — 

O Thou, whom Poesy abhors ! 
Whom Prose has turned out of doors ! 
Heard'st thou that groan ? — proceed no 
further — [ther!" 

'Twas laurell'd Martial roaring, " Mur- 



LINES 

\\TIITTEN .ON A PANE OF GLASS IN 

THE INN AT MOFFAT. 

While Burns was in the inn at Moflfat one 
day, the " charming, lovely Davies" of one 
of his songs happened to pass, accompanied 
by a tall and portly lady : and on a friend 
asking him why God had made Miss Davies 
so small and the other lady so large, he rc- 
pHed :— 

Ask why God made the gem so small. 
And why so huge the granite ? 

Because God meant mankind should set 
The higher value on it. 



LINES 

SPOKEN EXTEMPORE ON BEING AP- 
POINTED TO THE EXCISE. 

Searching anld wives' barrels, 

Och, lion ! the day ! [laurels; 

That clarty barm should stain my 
But — what'll ye say ? [weans 

These movin' things ca'd wives and 
Wad move the very hearts o' stanes I 



EPITAPH ON W . 

Stop, thief ! Dame Nature cried to 

Death, 
As Willie drew his latest breath; 
You have my choicest model ta'en, 
How shall I make a fool again ? 



ON A PERSON NICKNAIVIED THE 

MARQUIS. 
The person who bore this name was the land- 



180 



BURNS' WORKS. 



lord of a tavern in Dumfries frequented by 
Barns. In a moment of weakness he asked 
the poet to write his epitaph, which he im- 
mediately did, in a style not at all to the 
taste of the Marquis. 

Heue lies a mock Marquis, whose 

titles were sliamm'd; 
If ever he rise — it will be to be damn'd. 



TO JOHN M'MURDO, ESQ. 

John M'Murdo was steward to the Duke 
of Queensberry, and the faithful friend of 
Burns during the whole period of his resi- 
dence in Nithsdale. 

On could I give thee India's wealth 

As I this tritie send ! 
Because thy joy in both would be 

To share them with a friend. 

But golden sands did never grace 

The Heliconian stream; 
Then take what gold could never buy — 

An honest bard's esteem. 



TO THE SAME. 

Blest be M'Murdo to his latest day ! 
No envious cloud o'ercast his evening 

ray; [Care, 

No wrinkle furrow'd by the hand of 
Nor ever sorrow add one silver hair ! 
Oh, may no son the father's honour 

stain, [pain ! 

Nor ever daughter give the mother 



ON CAPTAIN FRANCIS GROSE. 

One night at table, when the wine had circu- 
lated pretty freely, and 

"The mirth and fun grew fast and 
furious," 

Captain Grose, it is said, amused v/ith the 
sallies of the poet, requested a couplet on 
himself. Having eyed the corpulent anti- 
quary for a little, Burns repeated the follow- 
ing:— 

The devil got notice that Grose was 

a-dying, [came flying; 

So whip at the summons old Satan 

But when he approtich'd where poor 

Francis lay mouning, [a-'vroanino-, 

And saw each bodi)ost with its burden 

Astonish'd, confounded, cried Satan, 

"By God I [nab] e load !" 

I'll want 'im, ere I take such a dam- 



ON GRIZZEL GRIM. 

Here lies with Death auld Grizsel 
Grim, 

Lincluden's ugly witch; 
O Death, how horrid is thy taste 

To lie with such a bitch ! 



ON MR. BURTON. 

Burns having on one occasion met a young 
Englishman of the name of Burton, he be- 
came very importunate that the poet should 
compose an epitaph for him. '' In vain," 
says Cunningham, " the bard objected 
that he was not sufficiently acquainted with 
his character and habits to qualify him for 
the task ; the request was constantly repeat- 
ed with a " Dem my eyes. Burns, do write 
an epitaph for me ; oh, dem. my blood, do, 
Burns, write an epitaph for me.' Over- 
come by his importunity, Burns at last took 
out his pencil and produced the follow- 
ing:— 

Here cursing, swearing Burton lies, 
A buck, a beau, or Dem my eyes 1 
Who in his life did little good ; [blood 1 
And his last words were — Dem my 



POETICAL REPLY TO AN INVITA- 
TION. 

The king's most humble servant, I 
Can scarcely spare a minute; 

But I'll be wi' you by and by. 
Or else the devil's in it. 



TO THE EDITOR OF THE STAR. 

"Burns at one period," says Cunnmgham, 
" was in the habit of receiving the Star- 
newspaper gratuitously ; but as it came 
somewhat irregularly to hand, he sent the 
following lines to head-quarters, to insure 
more punctuality :"— 

Dear Peter, dear Peter, 

We poor sons of metre. 
Are often negisckit, ye ken; 

For instance, your sheet, man, 

(Though glad I'm to see't, man,) 
I get it no ae day in ten. 



ON BURNS' HORSE BEING IM= 

POUNDED. 
Was e'er puir poet sae befitted, [tec ? 
The maister drunk — the horse commit- 



EPIGRAMS, EPITAPHS, Err. 



18! 



Puir harmless beast ! taktlieo naecare, 
Tliou'lt be a horse when he ti uae rnair 
i^ma^( r.) 



LINES 



SENT TO A GENTLEMAN WHOM HE HAD 
OFFENDED. 

The friend whom wild from wisdom's 
way 
The fumes of wine infuriate send; 
(Not moony madness more astray;) 
Who but deplores that hapless 
friend? 

Mine was the insensate frenzied part ! 

Ah ! why should I such scenes out- 
live ! 
Scenes so abhorrent to my heart ! 

'Tis thine to pity and forgive. 



VERSES TO JOHN RANKIXE, 

ON HIS WRITING TO THE POET THAT A 
GIRL IN THAT PART OF THE COUNTRY 
WAS WITH CHILD BY HIM. 

I AM a keeper of the law 

In some sma' points, although not a': 

Some people tell me gin I fa', 

Ae way or ither. 
The breaking of ae point, though sma', 

Breaks a' thegither. 

I liae been in for't ance or twice. 
And winna say o'er far for thrice. 
Yet never met with that surprise 

That broke my rest. 
But novr a rumour's lilvo to rise, 

A whaup's i' the nest. 



ON SEEING MISS FONTENELLE 
IN A FAVOURITE CHARACTER. 

Sweet naivete of feature, 
Simple, wild, enchanting elf. 

Not to thee, but thanks to Nature, 
Thou art acting but thyself. 

^vVert. thou aAvkward, stiff, affected, 
Spurning nature, torturing art; 

Loves and graces all rejected, 
Then indeed thou'dst act a part. 



ON GABRIEL RICHARDSON, 
BREWER, DUMFRIES. 

TZere brewer Gabriel's iBre's extinct. 
And empty all his barrels: 

He's blest — if, as hebrew'd, he drink- 
In upright honest morals. 



THE BLACK-HEADED EAGLE: 

A FRAGMENT ON THE DEFEAT OF THE 
AUSTRIANS BY DUMOURIER, AT GEM- 
APPE, NOVEMBER, 1792. 

The black-headed eagle. 

As keen as a beagle, 
He hunted owre height and owre howe; 

But fell in a trap 

On the braes of Gemappe, 
E'en let him come out as he dowe. 



ON A SHEEP'S-HEAD. 

Having been dining at the Globe Tavern, 
Dumfries, on one occasion when a sheep's- 
head happened to be the fare provided, he 
v^^as asked to give something new as a 
grace, and instantly replied : — 

O Lord, when hunger pinches sore. 
Do Thou stand us in stead, 

xlnd send us from Thy bounteous store 
A tup or wether head ! — Amen, 

After having dined, and greatly enjoyed this 
dainty, he was again asked to return thanks, 
when, without a moment's premeditation, 
he at once said : — 

Lord, since we have feasted thus. 

Which we so little merit. 
Let Meg now take away the flesh. 

And Jock bring in the spirit ! — Amen. 



ON THE DEATH OF A LAP-DOG 
NAMED ECHO. 

In wood and wild, ye warbling throng, 

Your heavy loss deplore ; 
Now lialf- extinct your povrers of song, 

Sweet Echo is no more. 

Ye jarring, screeching things around, 
Scream your discordant joys; 

Nov.- half your fliu of tuneless sound 
With Echo silent lies. 



183 



BUKNS' WORKS. 



ON SEEING THE BEAUTIFUL 

SEAT OF LORD GALLOWAY. 

This and the three following verses were 
written as political squibs during the heat 
of a contested election : — 

What dost thou in that mansion fair?— 

Flit, Galloway, and find 
(Some narrow, dirty, dungeon cave, 

The picture of thy mind ! 



ON THE SAME. 

Ko Stewart art thou, Galloway, 
The Stewarts all were brave; 

Besides, the Stewarts were but fools, 
Not one of them a knave. 



ON THE SAME. 

Betght ran thy line, Galloway, 
Through many a far-famed sire ! 

S® ran the far-famed Roman way, 
So ended — in a mire ! 



TO THE SAME. 

ON THE author's BEING THREATENED 
WITH HIS RESENTMENT. 

Spare me thy vengeance, Galloway, 

In quiet let me live: 
I ask no kindness at thy hand. 

For thou hast none to give. 



HOWLET FACE. 

One of the Lords of Justiciary, says a corre- 
spondent of Mr. Chambers', while on circuit 
at Dumfries, had dined one day at Mr. Mil- 
ler's of Dalswinton ; and having, according 
to the custom of the time, taken wine to 
such an extent as to affect his sight, said to 
his host, on entering the drawing-room, and 
at the same time pointing to one of his 
daughters, who was thought an uncommon- 
ly handsome woman, "■ Wha's you howlet- 
faced thing in the corner?" The circum- 
stance having been related to Burns, who 
happened to dine there next day, he took 
out his pencil and wrote the following lines, 
which he handed to Miss Miller : — 

How daur ye ca' me howlet-faced, 
Ye ugly glowering spectre ? 

My face was but the kf^elcin' glass. 
And there ye saw your picture! 



THE BOOK- WORMS. 

Having been shown into a magnificent library, 
while on a visit to a nobleman, and observ- 
ing a splendidly-bound, but uncut and 
worm-eaten, copy of Shakespeare on the 
table, the poet left the following lines in 
the volume : — 

Through and through the inspired 
leaves. 

Ye maggots, make your windings; 
But, oh, respect his lordship's taste, 

And spare the golden bindings ! 



EPIGRAM ON BACON. 

Brownhill was a posting station some fifteen 
miles from Dumfries. Dining there on one 
occasion, the poet met a Mr. Ladyman, a 
commercial traveller, who solicited a sample 
of his " rhyming ware." At dinner, beans 
and bacon were served, and the landlord, 
whose name was Eacon, had, as Vv^as his 
wont, thrust himself somev/hat offensively 
into the company of his guests. 

At Brownhill we always get dainty 
g;)od cheer, [year; 

And i)lenty of bacon each day in the 

We've all things that's neat, and mostly 
in season, [me a reason. 

But why always Bacon V — come, give 



THE EPITAPH. 

In this stinging epitaph Burns satirizes Mrs. 
Riddel of Woodley Park. He had taken 
offence because she seemed to pay more at- 
tention to officers in the company than to 
the poet, who had a supreme contempt for 
" epauletted puppies," as he jdehghted to 
call them. 

Here lies, now a prey to insulting 
neglect, [life's beam: 

What once was a butterfly, gay in 
Want only of wisdom denied her re- 
spect, [esteem. 
Want only of goodness denied her 



ON MRS. KEMBLE. 

The poet having witnessed the performance 
of Mrs. Kerable in the part of Yanco, one 
night at the Dumfries theatre, seized a piece 
of paper, wrote these lines with a pencil, 
and handed them to the lady at the conclu' 
sion of the performance :— 

Kemble, thou curst my unbelief 

Of Moses and his rod; 
At Yarico's sweet notes of grief 

The rock with tears had flow'd. 



EPIGRAMS, EPITAPHS, Etc, 



183 



THE CREED OF POVERTY. 

" When the Board of Excise," says Cunning- 
ham, " informed Burns that his business 
was to act, and not think, he read the order 
to a friend, turned the paper, and wrote as 
follows :" — 

In politics if tliou wouldst mis, 

And mean thy fortunes be; 
Bear this in mind — " Be deaf and blind; 

Let great folks hear and see." 



WRITTEN IN A LADY'S POCKET- 
BOOK. 

The following lines indicate how strongly 
Burns sympathized with the lovers of lib- 
erty during the first outbreak of tlie French 
Revolution : — 

Gkant me, indulgent Heaven, that I 
may live [give; 

To see the miscreants feel the pain they 

Deal Freedom's sacred treasures free 
as air, [which were. 

Till slave and despot be but things 



THE PARSON'S LOOKS. 

Some one having remarked that he saw false- 
hood in the very look of a certain reverend 
gentleman, the poet replied :— 

That there is falsehood in his looks 

I must and will deny ; 
They say their master is a knave — 

And sure they do not lie. 



EXTEMPORE, 

PINNED TO A lady's COACn. 

If yoii rattle along like your mistress's 
tongue, 
Your speed will outrival tho dart; 
But a fly for your load, you'll break 
down on the road, 
If your stuff be as rotten'sher heart. 



ON ROBERT RIDDEL. 

The poet traced these lines with a diamond 
on the window of the hermitage of Friars' 
Carse, the first time he visited it after the 
death of his friend the Laird of Carse. 

To Riddel, much-lamented man. 

This ivied cot was dear; 
Reader,- dost value matchless worth? 

This ivied cot revere. 



ON EXCISEMEN. 

"WRITTEN ON A WINDOW IN DUMFRIES. 

" One day," says Cunningham, " while in the 
King's Arms Tavern, Dumfries, Burns 
overheard a country gentleman talking dis- 
paragingly concerning excisemen. The poet 
went to a window, and on one of the panes 
wrote this rebuke with his diamond :' — 

Ye men of wit and wealth, why all 

this sneering [a hearing; 

'Gainst poor excisemen ? give the causd 
What are poor landlords' rent-rolls ? 

taxing ledgers; 
What premiers — what? even mon- 

archs' mighty gaugers : 
Nay, what are priests, those seeming 

godly wise men ? [cise men ? 

What are they, pray, but spiritual ex- 



VERSES 

W^RITTEN ON A "WINDOW OF THE GLOBE 
TAVERN, DUMFRIES. 

The graybeard, old Wisdom, may 
boast of his treasures, 
Give me with gay Folly to live ; 
I grant him calm- blooded, time-settled 
pleasures, 
But Folly has rapture to give. 



THE SELKIRK GRACE. 

The poet having been on a visit to the Earl of 
Selkirk at St. Mary's Isle, was asked to say 
grace at dinner. He repeated the following 
Avords, which have since been known in the 
district as " The Selkirk Grace :" — 

oOME hae meat, and canna eat, 
And some wad eat that want it; 

But we hae meat, and Ave can eat. 
Ai\di sae the Lord be thankit. 



EPITAPH ON A SUICIDE. 

Earth'd up here lies an imp o' Iiell, 
Planted by Satan's dibble — 

Poor silly wretch he's damn'd himsel 
To save the Lord the trouble. 



TO DR. MAXWELL, 

ON MISS JESSIE STAIG'S RECO^'TIIIY. 

' How do you like the following epigram," 
says the poet, in a letter to Thomson, 
'" which I wrote the other day on a lovely 
young girl's recovery from a fever ? Doctor 



184 



BURNS' WORKi 



Maxwell was the physician who seemingly 
saved her from the grave ; and to him 1 
address the following :"— 

Maxwell, if merit liere you crave, 

That merit I deny ; 
You, save fair Jessie from the grave ? — 

An angel could not die. 



THE PARVENU. 

Burns being present in a company where an 
ill-educated parvemivi2& boring every one 
by boasting of the many great people he 
had lately been visiting, gave vent to his 
feelings m the following lines : — 

No more of your titled acquaintances 

boast, [been; 

And in what lordly circles you've 

An insect is still but an insect at most, 

Though it crawl on the head of a 

queen ! 



POETICAL INSCRIPTION 

FOU AN ALTAR TO INDEPENDENCE. 

The following lines were inscribed on an altar 
erected at the seat of Heron of Kerrough- 
trce. They were written in 1795, when the 
hopes and triumphs of the French Revolu- 
tion had made it a fashion to raise altars to 
Freedom, and plant trees to Liberty. 

Thou of an independent mind, 

With soul resolved, with soul resign'd; 

Prepared power's proudest frown to 

brave, 
Who wilt not be, nor have, a slave; 
Virtue alone who dost revere, 
Thy own reproach alone dost fear, 
Approach this shrine, and worship 

here. 



EXTEMPORE TO MR. SYME, 

ox REFUSING TO DINE WITH HIM 
Dec. 17, 1795. 

No more of your guests, be they titled 
or not. 
And cookery the first in the nation ; 
Who is proof to thy personal converse 
and wit 
Is proof to all other temptation. 



TO MR. SYME, 

WITH A PKESENT OF A DOZEN OF 
PORTER. 

Jerusalem Tavern, Dumfries. 
Oh, had the malt thy strength of mind, 

Or hops the flavour of thy wit, 
'Twere drink for first of humankind, 

A gift that e'en for Syme were tit. 



INSCRIPTION ON A GOBLET. 

There's death in the cup — sae beware' 
Nay, more — there is danger in touch 
* ir,g; 

But wha can avoid the fell snare ? 
The man and his wine's sae bewitch- 



ing 



THE TOAST. 



Burns having been called on for a song at a 
dinner given by the Dumfries Volunteers 
in honour of the anniversary of Rodney's 
great victory of the 12th of April, 1782, gave 
the following lines in reply to the call : — 

Instead of a song, boys, I'll give you 

a toast — 
Here's the memory of those on the 

twelfth that we lost! — 
That we lost, did I say? nay, by 

Heaven, that Ave found; 
For their fame it shall last while the 

world goes round. 

The next in succession, I'll give you— 

The King! ■ [may he swing! 

Whoe'er would betray him, on high 
And here's the grand fabric. Our free 

Constitution, [olution; 

As built on the base of the great Rev- 
And longer with politics not to be 

cramm'd, [damn'd; 

Be Anarchy cursed, and be Tyranny 
And who would to Liberty e'er prove 

disloyal [first trial! 

May his son be a hangman, and he his 



ON THE POET'S DAUGHTER. 

The following lines were written on the loss 
of an •' only daughter and darling ch..d " of 
the poet's, who died in the autumn of 
1795:- 

Here lies a rose, a budding rose, 
Blasted before its bloom: 

Whose innocence did sweets disclose 
Beyond that ilower's perfume. 



ZPIUiiiAMS, EPITAPHS, Etc. 



185 



To those who for lier loss are grieved, 

This consolation's giveM— 
She s from a world of woe relieved. 

And blooms a rose in heaven. 



ON A COUNTRY LAIRD. 

Bless the Redeemer, Cardoness, 
With grateful lifted eyes, . 

■\Vho said that not the soul alone. 
But body, too, must rise; 

For had lie said, " The soul alone 
From death I will deliver;" 

Alas I alas! O Cardoness, 

'I'hen thou hadst slept forever! 



EPITAPH ON TAM 
CHAPMAN. 



^HE 



Tam the chapman was a Mr. Kennedy, a 
travelling- agent for a commercial house. 
The following- lines were composed on his 
recovery from a severe illness :— 

As Tam the Chapman on a day 
Wi' Death forgather'd by the way, 
Weel pleased, he greets a wight^ sae 
famous, [Thomas, 

And Death was nae less pleased wi' 
Wha cheerfully lays down the pack, 
And there blaws up a hearty crack ;2 
His social, friendly, honest heart 
Sae tickled Death, they couldna part: 



Sae, after viewing knives and garters, 
Death takes him hame to gie him 
quarters. 



THE TRUE LOYAL NATIVES. 

Tlie origin of these lines is thus related by 
Cromek :— '' When politics ran high the poet 
happened to be in a tavern, and the follow- 
ing lines — the production of one of ' The 
True Loyal Natives' — were handed over the 
table to Burns: — 

' Ye sons of sedition, give ear to my song, 
Let Syme, Burns, and Maxwell, pervade 
every throng ; [quack, 

With Craken the attorney, and Mundell the 
Send Willie the monger to hell with a smack.' 

The poet took out a pencil and instantly 
wrote this reply: "— 

Ye true " Loyal Natives" attend to my 
song, [long; 

In uproar and riot rejoice the night 

From envy and hatred your corps is 
exempt, [of contempt ? 

But where is your shield from the darts 



1 Fellow. 



Gossip. 



EPITAPH ON ROBERT AIKEN,EBv^. 

Know thou, stranger to the fame 
Of this much-loved, much-honour'd 

name, 
(For none that knew him need be told) 
A warmer heart Death ne'er made coldl 

ON A FRIEND. 

A N honest man here lies at rest, 
A.s e'er God with His image blest ! 
The friend of man, the friend of ti'utli; 
The friend of age, and gtiide of youth; 
i'ew hearts like his, with virtue 

warm'd, 
Few heads with knowledge so inform'd ; 
If there's another world, he lives in 

bliss, [this. 

If there is none, he made the best of 



ON GAVIN HAMILTON. 

The poor man weejjs — here Gavin 
sleeps, 

Vv^liom canting wretches blamed: 
But with such as he, where'er he be. 

May I be saved or danm'd ! 

ON WEE JOHNNY. 

HIC JACET WEE JOHNNY. 

John Wilson, the printer of the Kilmainock 
edition of the poet's works. 

Whoe'er thou art, O reader, know 
Tiiat Death has murder'd Johnny ! 

And here his body lies f u' low — 
For eaul he ne'er had ony. 



ON 



A CELEBRATED RULING 
ELDER. 



Heke souter Hood in death does 
sleep; — 

To hell, if he's gone thither, 
Satan, gie him thy gear^ to keep. 

He'll baud- it weel thegither. 



1 Wealth. 2 Hold. 



186 



BURNS' WORKS. 



ON A NOISY POLEMIC. 

James Humphrey, a workinjj mason, was the 
"noisy polemic" of this epitaph. Burns 
and he trequenUy disputed on Auld-Light 
and New-Lif?ht topics, and Humphrey, 
although an iUiterate man, not imfrequently 
had the best of it. He died in great pover- 
ty, having solicited charity for some time 
before his death. We have heard it said 
that in soliciting charity from the strangers 
who arrived and departed by the Mauchhne 
coach, he grounded his claims to their kind- 
ness on the epitaph—"' Please sirs, I'm 
Burns' bletherin' bitch!" 

Below tliir stanes lie Jamie's banes: 

Death, it's my opinion, 
Tliou ne'er took such a bleth'rin' Wtch 

Into thy dark dominion ! 



ON A NOTED COXCOMB. 

Light lay the earth on Billy's breast, 
His chicken heart so tender; 

But build a castle on his head, 
His skull will prop it under. 



ON MISS JEAN SCOTT OF 
ECCLEFECHAN. 

The young lady, the subject of these lines, 
dwelt in Ayr, and cheered the poet, not 
only by her sweet looks, but also with her 
sweet voice. 

Oil ! had each Scot of ancient times 
Been, Jeannie Scott, as thou art, 

The bravest heart on English ground, 
Had yielded like a coward ! 



ON A HENPECKED COUNTRY 

SQUIRE. 

As Father Adam first was fool'd, 
A case that's still too common. 

Here lies a man a Avoman ruled — 
The devil ruled the woman. 



ON THE SAME. 
O Death, liadst thou but spared his 
life 
Whom we this day lament ! 
We freely wad exchanged the wife, 
And a' been weel content ! 

E'en as he is, cauld in his graff. 
The swap' we yet will do't; 

1 Exchange, 



Tak thou the carlin's- carcase afE, 
Thou'se get the saul to boot. " 



ON THE SAME. 

One Queen Artemisia, as old stories tell. 
When deprived of her husband she 

loved so well, 
In respect for the love and affection 

he'd show'd her 
She reduced him to dust and she drank 

up the powder. [complexion, 

But Queen Netherplace, of a different 
When call'd on to order the funeral 

direction, 
W^ould have eat her dead lord, on 

a slender pretence. 
Not to show her respect, but — to save 



the 



expense 



JOHNNY PEEP. 



Burns having been on a visit to a town in 
Cumberland one day, entered a tavern and 
opened the door of a room, but on seeing 
three men sitting, he was about to withdraw, 
when one of them shouted, "Come in, 
Johnny Peep." The poet accordingly en- 
tered, and soon became the ruling spirit 
of the party. In the midst of their mirth, it 
was proposed that each should write a verse 
of poetry, and place it along with a half- 
crown, on the table— the best poet to have 
his half-crown returned, and the other three 
to be spent in treating the party. It is 
almost needless to say that the palm of 
victory was awarded to the following lines 
by Burns : — 

Here am I, Johnny Peep; . 
I saw three sheep. 

And these three sheep saw me; 
Half-a-crown apiece 
W^ill pay for their fleece. 

And so Johnny Peep gets free. 



THE HENPECKED HUSBAND. 

It is said that the wife of a gentleman, at 
whose table the poet was one day dining, 
expressed herself with more freedom than 
propriety regarding her husband's ex- 
travagant convivial habits, a rudeness 
which Burns rebuked in these sharp lines :— 

Cursed be the man, the poorest wretch 

in life, 
The crouching vassal to the tyrant wife! 



* Carl in — a woman with an evil tongue. In 
olden times used with reference to a womaa 
suspected of having dealings with the devil. 



EPIGRAMS, EPITAPHS, Etc. 



187 



Wlio lias no will but by lier high per- 
mission; [session; 
Who has not sixpence but in her pos- 
Who must to her his dear friend's 
secret tell; [than hell! 
Who dreads a curtain-lecture worse 
Were such the wife had fallen to my 
part, [heart; 
I'd break her spirit, or I'd break her 
I'd charm her with the magic of a 
switch, [verse bitch. 
I'd kiss her maids, and kick the per- 



ON ANDREW TURNER. 

In se'enteen hunder and forty-nine, 
Satan took stuff to mak a swine, 

And cuist it in a corner; 
But wilily he changed his plan, 
And shaped it something like a man. 

And ca'd it Andrew Turner. 



A GRACE BEFORE DINNER. 

O Thou, who kindly dost provide 

For every creature's want! 
We bless thee, God of nature vnde, 

For all thy goodness lent: 
And, if it please thee, heavenly Guide, 

May never worse be sent: 
But, whether granted or denied, 

Lord, bless us with content! — Amen. 



ON MR. W. CRUIKSHANK. 

One of the masters of the High School, Edin- 
burgh, and a well-known friend of the 
poet's. 

Ho>'EST Will's to heaven gane. 
And niony shall lament liim; 

{lis faults tiiey a' in Latin lay, 
In English nane e'er kent them. 



ON WAT. . 

Sic a reptile was Wat, 

Sic a miscreant slave, 
That the very worms damn'd him 

When laid in his grave. 
*' In his flesh there's a famine," 

A starved reptile cries; 
** And his heart is rank poison/' 

Another replies. 



ON THE KIRK OF LAMINGTON 

IN CLYDESDALE. 

Having been stayed by a storm one Sunday at 
Lamington in Clydesdale, the poet went to 
church ; but the day was so cold, the place 
so uncomfortable, and the sermon so poor, 
that he left the following poetic protest 
in the pew :— 

As cauld a wind as ever blew, 
A caulder kirk, and in't but few; 
As cauld a minister's e'er spak, 
To'se a' be liet ere I come back. 



A MOTHER'S ADDRESS TO HER 
INFANT. 

My blessin's upon thy sweet wee lippie: 
My blessin's upon thy bonny ee-brie ! 

Thy smiles are sae lilte my blithe sod- 

ger laddie, [me! 

Thou's aye the dearer and dearer to 

VERSES 

WRITTEN ON A PANE OP GLASS, ON 
THE OCCASION OF A NATIONAL 
THANKSGIVING FOR A NAVAL VIC- 
TORY, 

^'e hypocrites ! are these yonr pranks? 
To murder men, and gie God thanks ! 
For shame ! gie o'er — proceed no fur- 
ther — [ther ! 
God won't accept your thanks for mur- 



I MFRDER hate by field or flood. 

Though glory's name may screen us; 

In wars at hame I'll spend my blood, 
Life-giving wars of Venus. 

The deities that I adore. 

Are social peace and plenty; 
I'm better pleased to make one more. 

Than be the death of twenty. 

My bottle is my holy pool. 

That heals the wounds o' care and dool; 

And pleasure is a wanton trout, 

An' ye drink it dry, ye'll find him out. 



ON JOHN BUSHBY. 

Bushby, it seems, was a sharp-witted, clever 
lawyer, who happened to cross the poet's 
path in politics, and was therefore consid- 
ered a fair subject for a lampoon. 

Here lies John Bushby, honest man 1 
Cheat himj devil, gin you can. 



188 



BURNS' WORKS. 



LINES TO JOHN RANKINE. 

These lines were written by Burns while on 
his death-bed, and forwarded to Rankine 
immediately after the poet's death. 

He wlio of Rankine sang lies stiff and 

dead, [head; 

And a green grassy hillock haps his 

Alas ! alas ! a devilish change indeed ! 



TO MISS JESSY LEWARS. 

'Duringr the last illness of the poet," says 
Cunningham, " Mr. Brown, the surgeon 
who attended him. came in, and stated that 
he had been looking at a collection of wild 
beasts iust arrived, and pulling out the list 
ot the animals, held it out to Jessy Lcwars. 
The poet snatched it from him, took up a 
pen, and with red mk wrote the following 
on the back of the paper, saying, ' Now it is 
fiL to be presented to a lady.' " 

Talk not to me of savages 

From Afric's burning sun, 
No savage e'er could rend my heart 

As, Jessy, thou hast done. 

Btit Jessy's lovely hand in mine, 

A mutual faith to ]-)light, 
Not even to view the heavenly choir 

Would be so blest a sieiit. 



THE TOAST. 

On another occasion, while Miss Lewars was 
waiting upon him during his illness, he took 
up a crystal goblet, and writing the follow- 
ing lines on it, presented it to her :— 

FiLTi mo with the rosy wine. 
Call a toast — a toast divine; 
Give the poet's darling tiame, 
Lovely Jessy be the name; 
Tlien thou mayst freely boast 
Thou hast given a peerless toast. 



ON THE SICKNESS OF MISS JESSY 
LEWARS. 

On Miss Lewars complaining of illness in the 
hearing of the poet, he said he would pro- 
vide for the worst, and seizing another 
crystal goblet, he wrote as follows : — 

Say, sages, what's the charm on ©arth 

Can turn Death's dart aside? 



It is not purity and worth. 
Else Jessy had not died. 



ON THE RECOVERY OF JESSY 
LEWARS. 



poet said 
"^and coin 



On her recovering health, the 
" There is a poetic reason for it, 
posed the following : — 



But rarely seen since nature's birth, 

The natives of the sky ; 
Yet still one serapli's left on earth 

For Jessy did not die. 



A BOTTLE AND AN HONEST 
FRIEND. 

Some doubt has been expressed by the 
brother of the poet as to the authenticity ol 
this small piece :— 

" There's nane that's blest of humankind 
But the cheerful and the gay," man. 
Fal, lal," &c. 

Here's a bottle and an honest friend! 

What Avad you wish for niair, man 1 
Wha kens, before his life may end. 

What his share may be of care, man'! 

Then catch the moments as they fly. 
And use them as ye ought, man ; 

Believe me, Happiness is shy, [man. 
And comes not aye when sought, 



GRACE AFTER DINNER. 

O Tnou, in Avhom we live and move, 
Who madest the sea and shore ; 

Thy goodness constantly we prove. 
And, grateful, would adore. 

And if it please Thee, Power above, 
Still grant us, with such store, 

The friend we trust, the fair we love. 
And we desire no more. 



ANOTHER. 

Lord, we thank Thee and adore. 
For temp'ral gifts we little merit; 

At present we will ask no moro — 
Let William Hyslop give the spirit ! 



SONGS. 



MY HANDSOME NELL. 

Tune — " I am a man unmarried." 
Nelly Kilpatrick, the heroine of this song', 
was the daughter of the village blacksmith, 
and the poet s first partner in the labours of 
the harvest-field. She was the " sonsie 
quean" he sings of, whose " witchingsmile" 
first made his heart-strings tingle. " This 
song," he says, '' was the first of my per- 
formances, and done at an early period of 
my life, when my heart glowed with honest, 
warm simplicity — unacquainted and uncor- 
rupted with the ways of a wicked world. 
It has many faults ; but I remember I com- 
posed it in a wild enthusiasm of passion ; 
and to this hour I never recollect it but my 
heart melts— my blood saUies, at the remem- 
brance." 

Oh, once I loved a bonny lass, 

Aye, and I love her still; 
And whilst that virtue warms my breast 

I'll love my handsome Nell. 

Fal, lal de ral, &c. 
As bonnr lasses I hae seen, 

And mony full as braw;* 
But for a modest, gracef u' mien, 

The like I never saw. 

A bonny lass, I will confess. 

Is pleasant to the ee 
But wdthout some better qualities 

She's no a lass for me. 

Btit Nelly's looks are blithe and sweet; 

And, wdiat is best of a' — 
Her reputation is complete, 

And fair without a flaw. 

She dresses aye sae clean and neat, 

Baith decent and genteel; 
And then there's something in her gait 

Gars"^ onv dress look weel. 



1 Well dressed. 



3 Makes. 



A gaudy dress and gentle air 
May slightly touch the heart; 

But it's innocence and modesty 
That polishes the dart. 

'Tis this in Nelly pleases me, 
'Tis this enchants my soull 

For absolutely in my breast 
She reigus without controL 



I DREAM' D I LAY WHERE FLOW- 
ERS W^ERE SPRINGING. 

" These two stanzas," says the poet, " which 
are among the oldest of my printed pieces, 
I composed when I was seventeen." 

I dream'd I lay where flowers were 
springing 

Gayly in the sunny beam. 
Listening to the \rAd birds singing 

By a falling crystal stream: 
Straight the sky grew black and daring; 

Through the woods the whirlwinds 
rave; 
Trees with aged arms were w^arring, 

O'er the swelling, drumlie wave. 

Such was my life's deceitful morning, 

Such the pleasures I enjoy'd; 
But lang or^ noon, loud tempests storm- 
ing, 

A' my flowery bliss destroy'd. [me, 
Though fickle Fortune has deceived 

(She promised fair, and perform'd 
but ill,) 
Of mony a joy and hope bereaved me, 

I bear a heart shall support me stilt 

i Ere. 



190 



BURNS' WORKS. 



MY NANNIE, 0. 

Tune—" My Nknnie, O." 

Behind yon hills, where Lugar flows 
'Mang moors and mosses many, O, 

The wintry sun the day has closed. 
And riravva' to Nannie, O. 

The westlin wind blaws load and shrill : 
The night's baith mirk and rainy, O; 

But I'll get my plaid, and out I'll steal. 
And ovvre the hills to Nannie, O. 

My Nannie's charming, sweet, and 
young, 

Nae artfu' wiles to win ye, 0: 
May ill befa' the flattering tongue 

That wad beguile my Nannie, O. 

Her face is fair, her heart is true, 
As spotless as she's bonny, 0: 

The opening go wan,' wat wi' dew, 
Nae purer is than Nannie, O. 

A country lad is my degree. 

And few there be that ken me, O; 

Sut what care I how few they be, 
I'm welcome aye to Nannie, O, 

My riches a's my penny-fee,^ 
And I maun guide it cannie, O; 

But warl's gear^ ne'er troubles me. 
My thoughts are a' my Nannie, 0, 

Our auld guidman delights to view 
His sheep and kye thrive bonny, 0; 

But I'm as blithe that hands his pleugh. 
And has na care but Nannie, O. 

Come weel, come woe, I care na by, 
I'll tak what Heaven will sen' me, O; 

Nae ither care in life have I 

But live and love my Nannie, O ! 



O TIBBIE, I HAE SEEN THE DAY. 

Tune—" Invercauld's Reel." 

O Tibbie, I hae seen the day 

Ye wadna been sae shy; 
For lack o' gear ye lightly' me, 

But, trowth, I care na by. 



Yestreen I yv.L-*: yo'i on the moor, 
Ye spak na, but gaed by like stoure.* 
Ye geek" at me because I'm poor. 
But feint a hair care I. 

I doubt na, lass, but ye may think, 
Because ye hae the name o' clink,'* 
That ye can please me at a wink 
Whene'er yu like to try. 

But sorrow tak him that's sae mean . 
Although his pouch o' coin were cleaUj 
Wha follows ony saucy quean/ 
That looks sae X)roud and high. 

Although a lad were e'er sae smart, 
If that he want the yellow dirt 
Ye'll cast yer head anither airt/ 
And answer him f u' dry. 

But if he hae the name o' gear,*' 
Ye'll fasten to him like a brier. 
Though hardly he, for sense or lear,® 
Be better than the kye. ^ 

But Tibbie, lass, tak my advice. 
Your daddie's gear maks you sae nice; 
The deil a ane wad spier your price 
Were ye as poor as I. 

There lives a lass in yonder park, 
I wadna gie her in her sark'^ 
For thee, wi' a' thy thousan' mark i 
Ye need na look sae high. 



i Daisy. 2 Wages. 3 World's wealth. 
1 Slight. 



ON CESSNOCK BANKS. 

Tune—" If he be a butcher neat and trim." 

On Cessnock banks there lives a lass. 
Could I describe her shape and mien, 

The graces of her weelfaurd' face. 
And the glancing of her sparkling 
een. 

She's fresher than the morning dawn. 
When rising Phoebus first is seen. 

When dew-drops twinkle o'er the lawn; 
And she's twa glancing, sparkling 
een. 

She's stately, like yon youthful ash 
That grows the cowslip braes be, 
tween. 



- Dust driven by the wind. ^ Mock. ^ 
Money. ^ Wench. <^ Direction. " Wealti^ 
« Learning. » Cows, lo shift. 

1 Well-favoured. 



SONGS. 



191 



A::! ;/.iools it's head above eacli bush; 
And she's twa glancing, sparkling 
een. 

She's spotless as the flowering thorn, 
With flowers so white and leaves so 
green. 
When purest in the dewy morn; 
And she's twa glancing, sparkling 
een. 

fler looks are like the sportive lamb, 
\Mien flowery INlay adorns the scene, 

That wantons round its bleating dam ; 
And she's twa glancing, sparkling 
een. 

Her hair is like the curling mist [e'en 
That shades the mountain-side at 

When flower-reviving rains are past; 
And she's twa glancing, sparkling 
een. 

Her forehead's like the showery bow. 
When shining sunbeams intervene, 

And gild the distant mountain's brow; 
And she's twa glancing, sparkling 
een. 

Her voice is like the evening thrush 
That sings on Cessnock banks un- 
seen, [bush; 
While his mate sits nestling in the 
And she's twa glancing, sparkling 
een. 

Her lips are like the cherries ripe 

That sunny walls from Boreas 

screen — [sight ; 

They tempt the taste and charm the 

And she's twa glancing, sparkling 

een. 

Her teeth are like a flock of sheep 
With fleeces newly washen clean. 

That slowly mount the rising steep; 
And she's twa glancing, sparkling 
een. 

Her breath is like the fragrant breeze 
That gently stirs the blossom'd bean 

When Phcebus sinks behind the seas; 
And she's twa glancing, sparkling 
een. 

But it's not her air, her form, her face, 
Though matching beauty's fabled 
qaeen, 

But the mind that shines in every grace, 
And chiefly in her sparkling een. 



IMPROVED VEESTON. 

On Cessnock banks a lassie dioells. 
Could I describe her shape and mien. 

Our lassies a' she far excels; 
And she's twa sparkling, roguish een. 

She's sweeter than the morning dawn. 
When rising Phoebus first is seen, 

And dew-drops twinkle o'er the lawn ; 
And she's twa sparkling, roguish een. 

She's stately, like yon youthful ash 
That grows the cowslip braes be- 
tween, [fresh; 

And drinks the stream icith mguur 
And she's twa sparkling, roguish een. 

She's spotless, ?iA:e the flowering thorn, 
With flowers so white, and leaves so 
green. 

When purest in the deA'vy morn; 
And she's twa sparkling, roguish een. 

Her looks are like the vernal May, 
When evening Phcebus shines serens, 

'While birds rejoice on every spray; 
And she's twa sparkling, roguish een. 

Her hair is like the curling mist [e'en 
That climbs the mountain-sides at 

When flower -reviving rains are past; 
And she's tv/a sparkling, roguish een. 

Her forehead's like the showery bow, 
When gleaming sunbesmiti intervene. 

And gild the distant mountain's brow; 
And she's twa sparkling, roguish een. 

Her cheeks are like yon crimson gem. 
The pride of all the flowery scene, 

Just opening on its thorny stem; 
And she's twa sparkling, roguish een. 

Her teeth are like the nightly snoio. 
When pale the morning rises keen. 

While hid the murm'ring streamlets 
flow; 
And she's twa sparkling, roguish een. 

Her lips are like yon cherries . ripe 
That sunny walls from Boreas 
screen — [siglit; 

They tempt tlie taste and charm the 
And she's twa sparklino-, roguish een. 

Her breath is like the fragrant breeze, 
That gently stirs the blossom'd bean 

When Phoebus sinks behind the seas; 
And she's twa sparkling, roguish een. 



1Q2 



BURNS' WORKS. 



^Ter voice is like the evening thrush, 
That sings on Cessnock banks un- 
seen, [bush; 
7hile his mate sits nestling in the 
And she's tvva sparkling, roguish een. 

ut it's not her air, her form, her face. 

Though matching beauty's fabled 

queen. ^ [grace; 

ns the mind that shines in every 
And chiefly in her roguish een. 



MY FATHER WAS A FARMER. 

Tune— "The Weaver and his Shuttle, O. 

"The following song," says the poet, " is a 
wild rhapsodi% miserably deficient m versi- 
fication ; but the sentiments were the 
genuine feelings of my heart at the time it 
was written." 

My father was a farmer 

Upon the Carrick border, O, 
And carefully he bred me 

In decency and order, 0; 
He bade me act a manly part, 

Though I had ne'er a farthing, 0, 
For withoiit an honest manly heart, 

No man was worth regarding, O, 

Then out into the wo;rld 

My course I did determine, O; 
Though to be rich was not my ^^^sh 

Yet to be great was charming, O: 
My talents they were not the worst, 

Nor yet my education, O; 
Resolved was I, at least to try, 

To mend my situation, 0. 

In many a way, and vain essay, 

1 courted Fortune's favour, 0; 
Some cause unseen still stept between. 

To frustrate each endeavour, O; 
Sometimes by foes I v/as o'erpower'd; 

Sometimes by friends forsaken, 0; 
And when my hope was at the top, 

I still was Vvorst mistaken, O. 

Then sore harass'd, and tired at last. 

With Fortune's vain delusion, 0, 
I dropt my schemes, like idle dreams, 

And came to this conclusion, O: 
The past was bad, and the future hid; 

Its good or ill untried. O; 
But the present hour was in my power, 

And so I would enjoy it, 0. 



No help, nor hope, nor view had I, 

Nor person to befriend me, O; 
So 1 must toil, and sweat, and broil, 

And labour to sustain me, 0; 
To plough and sow, to reap and mow. 

My father bred me early, 0; 
For one, he said, to labour bred. 

Was a match for Fortune fairly, O 

Thus all obscure, unknown, and pt - • 

Through life I'm doomed to v.- ui 
der, O, 
Till down my weary bones I lay 

In everlasting slumber, 0, 
No view nor care, but shun whate'er 

Might breed me pain or sorrow, O- 
I live to-day as well's I may, 

Regardless of to-morrow, O. 

But cheerful still, I am as well 

As a monarch in a jjalace, 0, 
Though Fortune's frown still hunts 
me down. 

With all her wonted malice, O: 
I make indeed my daily bread, 

But ne'er can make it farther, O; 
But as daily bread is all I need, 

I do not much regard her, O. 

When sometimes by my labour 

I earn a little money, O, 
Some unforseen misfortune 

Comes generally upon me, 0: 
Mischance, mistake, or by neglect. 

Or my good-natured folly, 0; 
But come what will, I've sworn it still 

I'll ne'er be melancholy, O. 

All you who follow wealth and power 

With unremitting ardour, O, 
The more in this you look for bliss. 

You leave your view the farther, O, 
Had you the wealth Potosi boasts, 

Or nations to adore you, O, 
A cheerful, honest-hearted clow 

I will prefer before you, O ! 



JOHN BARLEYCORN: 

A BALLAD. 

The following is an improvement of an early 
song of English origin, a copy of which 
was obtained by IMr. Robert Jameson from 
a black-letter sheet in the Pepys Library, 
Cambridge, and first published in his 
" Ballads': "— 



SONGS. 



193 



There were three kings into the east, 
Three kings both great and higli ; 

And they hae swore a solemn oath 
John Barleycorn should die. 

Tliey took a plough and plough'd him 
down, 

Put clods upon his head; 
And they hae sworn a solemn oath 

John Barleycorn was dead. 

But the cheerful spring came kindly on, 
And showers began to fall; 

John Barleycorn got up again, 
And sore surprised them all. 

The sultry suns of summer came, 
And he grew thick and strong; 

His head weel arm'd wi' pointed spears. 
That no one should him wrong. 

The sober autumn enter'd mild, 
When he grew wan and pale; 

His bending joints and drooping head 
Show'd he began to fail. 

His colour sicken'd more and more 

He faded into age; 
And then his enemies began 

To show their deadly rage. 

They've ta'en a weapon long and sharp, 

And cut liim by the knee; 
Then tied him fast upon a cart, 

Like a rogue for forgerie. 

They laid him down upon his back. 
And cudgell'd him full sore; 

They hung liim up before the storm, 
And turn'd him o'er and o'er. 

/They filled up a darksome pit 
pr/ With water to the brim; 

X hey heaved in John Barleycorn, 
There let him sink or swim. 

They laid him out upon the floor, 
To work him further woe: 

And still, as signs of life appear'd, 
They toss'd him to and fro. 

They wasted o'er a scorching flame 

Tiie marrow of his bones; 
But a miller used him worst of all— 

He crushed him 'tween two stones. 

And tliey hae ta'en his very heart's 
blood, 
And drank it round and roand. 



And still the more and more they 
drank, 
Their joy did more abound. 

Jolin Barleycorn was a hero bold, 

Of noble enterprise; 
For if you do but taste his blood, 

'Twill make your courage rise. 

'Twill make a man forget his woe; 

'Twill lieighton all his joy: 
'Twill make the widow's heart to sing, 

Though the tear were in her eye. 

Then let us toast John Barleycorn, 

Each man a glass in hand; 
And may his great posterity 

Ne'er fail in old Scotland ! 



MONTGOMERY'S PEGGY. 

Tune—" Gala Water." 

" Montg^omery's Peg'gy." says the poet, "who 
had been bred in a style of life rather 
elegant, was my deity for six or eight 
months." 

Although my bed were in yon muir, 
Ainang the heather, in my plaidie, 

Yet happy, happy would I be. 

Had I my dear 2tIontgomery's Peggy. 

When o'er the hill beat surly storms. 
And winter nights were dark and 
rainy; 

I'd seek some dell, and in my arms 
I'd shelter dear Montgomery's Peggy. 

AVere I a baron in*oud and high, 

And horse and servants waiting 
ready, 
Tlien a' 'twad gie o' joy to me. 

The sharin't wi' Montgomery's 
Peggy. 



MARY MORISON. 
Tune—" Bide ye yet."' 

Maey, at thy window be. 

It is the wish'd, the trystedhour! 
Those smiles and glances let me see 

That make the miser's treasure poor: 
How blitliely wad I bide the stoure, 

A vveary slave frae sun to sun; 
Could I tiie rich reward secure. 

The lovely Mary Morisoa, 



194 



BURNS' WORKS. 



Yestreen, when to tlie trembling 
string, [ha'. 

Tlic dance gacd through the lighted 
To thee my fancy took its wing — 

I sat, but neither heard nor saw: 
Though this was fair, and that was 
braw, 

And yon the toast of a' the town, 
I sigh'd, and said amang them a', 

' ' Ye are na Mary Morison. " 

O Mary, canst thou wreck his peace 

Wha for thy sake wad gladly die ? 
Or canst thou break that heart" of his 

Whase only faut is loving theeV 
If love for love thou wilt nagie, 

At least be pity to me shown ; 
A thought ungentle canna be 

Ihe thought o' Mary Morison. 



THE RIGS O' BARLEY. 

Tune — " Corn Rigs are Bonny." 

It was upon a Lammas night, 

When corn rigs are bonny, 
Beneath the moon's unclouded light, 

I held awa' to Annie: 
The time flew by wi' tentless heed, 

Till, 'tween the late and early, 
Wi' sma' persuasion she agreed 

To see me through the barley. 

The sky was blue, the wind was still. 

The moon was shining clearly, 
I set her dov/n, wi' right good will, 

Amang the rigs o' barley: 
I kent her heart was a' my ain, 

I loved her most sincerely: 
I kiss'd her ov.-re and owre again, 

Amang the rigs o' barley. 

1 lock'd her in my fond embrace ! 

Her heart was beating rarely, 
My blessings on that happy place, 

Amang the rigs o' barley! 
But by the moon and stars so bright, 

That shone that hour so clearly! 
She aye shall bless that happy night, 

Amang the rigs o' barley. 

I hae been blithe wi' comrades dear; 

I hae been merry drinkin'! 
1 hae been joyfu' gath'rin' gear; 

I hae been happy thinkin'; 



But a' the pleasures e'er I saw, 

Though tliree times doubled fairly, 

That happy night was worth them a', 
Amang the rigs o' barley. 

Corn rigs, and barley rigs. 
And corn rigs are bonny: 

I'll ne'er forget that hajipy night, 
Amang the rigs wi' Annie. 



PEGGY. 



Tune—" I had a horse, I had nae mair." 
Now westlin winds and slaught'ring 
guns 
Bring autumn's pleasant weather; 
The moorcock springs on whirring 
Avings, 
Amang the blooming heather: 
Now waving grain, wide o'er the plain. 

Delights the weary farmer; 
And the moon shines bright, when I 
rove at night, 
To muse upon my charmer. 

The partridge loves the fruitful fells; 

The plover loves the mountains; 
The woodcock haunts the lonely dells; 

The soaring hern the fountains: 
Through lofty groves the cushat' roves, 

The path of man to shun it; 
The hazel bush o'erhangs the thrush. 

The spreading thorn the linnet. 

Thus every kind their pleasure find, 

The savage and the tender; 
Some social join, and leagues combine; 

Some solitary wander: 
Avaunt, away ! the cruel sway. 

Tyrannic man's dominion; [cry 

The sportsman's joy, the murderin 

The fluttering, gory pinion! 

But Peggy, dear, the evening's clear. 

Thick flies the skimming swallow; 
The sky is blue, the fields in view. 

All fading green and yellow: 
Come, let us stray our gladsome way, 

And view the charms of nature; 
The rustling corn, the fruited thorn, 

And every happy creature. 

We'll gently walk, and sweetly talk. 
Till the silent moon shme clearly; 



1 Wood-pigeon. 



SONGS. 



195 



I'll grasp tliy waist, and, fondly prest, 
Swear how Ilovetliee dearly: 

Not vernal showers to budding flowers, 
Not autumn to the farmer, 

So dear can be, as thou to me, 
My fair, m.y lovely charmer! 



GREEN GROW THE RASHES, O ! 
Tune — " Green grow the rashes." 
Green grow the rashes, ! 
Green grow the rashes, O ! 
The sweetest hours that e'er I spend. 
Are spent amang the lasses, ! 

There's nought but care on every han'. 
In every hour that passes, O : 

What signifies the life o' man. 
An' 'twere na for the lasses, O ? 

The warl'ly^ race may riches chase, 
And riches still may fly them, O; 

And though at last they catch them 
fast. 
Their hearts can ne'er enjoy them, O. 

But gie me a canny "^ hour at een, 
My arms about my dearie, 0, 

And warl'ly cares, and warl'ly men, 
May a' gae tapsalteerie,^ O. 

For you sae douce,'^ ye sneer at this, 
Ye're nought but senseless asses. O; 

The wisest man the warl' e'er saw, 
He dearly loved the lasses, 0. 

Auld Nature swears the lovely dears 
Her noblest work she classes, O, 

Her 'prentice hand she tried on man. 
And then she made the lasses, 0. 



THE CURE FOR ALL CARE. 

Tune — "Prepare, my dear brethren, to the 
tavern let's fly." 

The poet composed this eong shortly after 
joining the Torbolton Mason Lodge, which 
was long noted in the west for its festivities. 

No churchman am I for to rail, and to 
v/rite, [fight, 

No statesman nor soldier to plot or to 

No sly man of business contriving a 
snare— [my care. 

For a big-bellied bottle's the whole of 



The peer I don't envy, I give him his 
bow; [low; 

I scorn not the peasant, though ever so 

But a club of good feUows, like those 
that are here, [care. 

And a bottle lilie this, are my glory and 

Here passes the squire on his brother — 
his horse ; [his purse ; 

There centum per centum, the cit A\-ith 

But see you the crown, how it waves 
in the air ! [care. 

There a big-bellied bottle still eases my 

The wife of my bosom, alas ! she did 
die; [fly; 

For sweet consolation to church I did 
I found that old Solomon proved it fair, 
That a big- bellied bottle's a cure for all 



I once was persuaded a venture to 
make , [wreck ; — 

A letter informed me that all was to 

But the pursy old landlord just wad- 
dled up stairs [cares. 

With a glorious bottle that ended my 

"Life's cares they are comforts," — a 

maxim laid down 
By the bard, what d'ye call him, that 

wore the black gown; ' [a hair; 

And faith, I agree with the old prig to 
For a big-bellied bottle's a heaven of a 

care. 

ADDED IN A MASON LODGE. 

Then fill up a bumper, and make it 
o'ei-flow, [throw; 

And honours masonic prepare for to 

May every true brother of the compass 
and square [with care ! 

Have a big- bellied bottle when harass'd 



1 Worldly. " Happy, lucky. 
* Grave. 



Topsy-turvy. 



MY JEAN ! 

Tune—" The Northern Lass.'' 

" The heroine of this sweet snatch," says Cun- 
ningham, " was bonny Jean. It was com- 
y-wo'oa when the poet contemplated the West 
India yoyrtg-c, -,nrl an eternal separation 
from the land and a-n. vv.-^. „^^ ^^^^ ^^ 
him." 

TnoTjaH cruel fate should bid us part, 

Far as the pole and line, 
Her dear idea round my heart 

Should tenderly entwine. 



!96 



BURNS' WORKS. 



Tliougli mountains rise, and deserts 
howl, 

And oceans roar between ; 
■Jet, dearer than my deathless sorj, 

1 still would love my Jean. 



A FRAGMENT. 

Tune—" John Anderson my Jo." 
One night as I did wander. 

When corn begins to shoot, 
I sat me down to ponder 

Upon an auld tree root: 
Auld Ayr ran by before me. 

And bicker'd^ to the seas; 
A cushat croodled- o'er me. 

That echo'd through the braes. 



WHEN CLOUDS IN SKIES DO 
COME TOGETHER. 

"The following," says the poet in his first 
Commonpiace Book, '' was an extempore 
effusion, composed under a train of misfor- 
tunes which threatened to undo me alto- 
gether." 

When clouds in skies do come together 

To hide the brightness of the 

sun [weather 

There will surely be some pleasant 

When a' their storms are past and 

gone. 

Though fickle Fortune has deceived 
me, [but ill; 

She promised fair, and perform'd 
Of mistress, friends, and Avealth be- 
reaved me, [still. 
Yet I bear a heart shall support me 

ril act with prudence, as far's I'm able; 

But if success I must never find. 
Then come Misfortune, I bid thee wel- 
come, [mind. 

I'll meet thee with an undaunted 



Tune- 



robin. 

_u i~)a:-«j iJavie." 



J, :. .^.aied that when the poet's mother felt 

■^ her time approach, his father took horse in 

the darkness of a stormy January night, 

and set out for Ayr to procure the necessary 

^ Raced leapmgly. » Wood-pigeon cooed. 



female attendant. On arriving at the ford 
of a rivulet which crossed the road, he 
found it so deep in flood, that a female way- 
farer sat on the opposite side unable to 
cross ; and, notwithstanding his own haste, 
he conveyed the woman through the strc^u- 
on his horse. On returning from Ayr with 
the midwife, he found the gipsy, for such 
she proved to be, seated at his cottage fire- 
side ; and on the child's being placed m the 
lap of the woman, shortly after his birth, 
she is said to have inspected his palm, 
after the manner of her tribe, and made the 
predictions which the poet has embodied ic 
the song. 

There was a lad was born in Kyle, 
Btit whatna day o' wliatna style, 
I doubt it's hardly worth the while 
To be sae nice wi' Robin. 
Robin was a rovin' boy, 

Rantin' rovin', rantin' rovin'; 
Robin was a rovin' boy, 
Rantin' rovin' Robin ! 

Our monarch's hindmost year but an® 
Was five and twenty days begun, 
'Twas then a blast o* Januar win 
Ble\V- hansel in on Robin. 

The gossip keekit' in his loof ,^ 
Quo' she, wha lives will see the proof i 
This waly^ boy will be nae coof-* — \ 
1 think we'll ca' him Robin. 

He'll hae misfortunes great and sma', 
But aye a heart aboon them a'; 
He'll be a credit till us a'. 
We'll a' be proud o' Robin. 

But, sure as three times three mab 

nine, 
I see, by ilka score and line. 
This chap will dearly like otir kin', 
So leeze^ me on thee, Robin. 

Guid faith, quo' she, I doabt ye gar 
Tbe bonny lasses lie aspar. 
But twenty fauts ye may hae waur. 
So blessia'e on tliee, Hobin ! 



LUCKLESS FORTUNE. 

O KAOiNG Fortune's withering blast 
Has laid my leaf full low, ! 

O raging Fortune's withering blast 
Has laid my leaf full low, ! 



1 Peeped. - Palm. 3 Goodly. * Fool, » A 
term of endearment. 



SONGS. 



191 



My stem was lair, my bud was green, 
My l)lossom sweet did blow, O; 

Tlie dew fell fresh, the suii rose mild, 
And made my branchea grow, O. 

But luckless Fortune's northern storms 
Laid a' my blossoms low, O; 

But luckless Fortune's northern storms 
Laid a' my blossoms low, O. 



THE MAUCHLINE LADY. 

Tune—" I had a horse, I had naetnair." 

When first I came to Stewart Kyle, 

My mind it w^as na steady: 
Where'er I gaed, where'er I rade, 

A mistress still I had aye; 

But when I came roun' by Mauchline 
town, 

Not dreadiii' ony body. 
My heart was caught, before I thought. 

And by a Mauchlme lady.* 



THE BRAES 0' BALLOCHMYLE. 
Tune — " Braes o' Ballochmyle." 

The Catrine woods were yellow seen, 

Tlie Howlers decay'd on Catrine lea, 
Nae laverock^ sang on hillock green. 

But nature sicken'd on the ee. 
Through faded groves Maria sang, 

Hersel in beauty's bloom the wdiile. 
And aye the wild-wood echoes rang, 

Fareweel the Braes o' Ballochmyle ! 

Low in your wintry beds, ye flowers. 

Again ye'll flourish fresh and fair; 
Ye birdies dumb in withering bowers. 

Again ye'll charm the vocal air. 
But here, alas ! for me nae mair 

Shall birdie charm or floweret smile: 
Fareweel the bonny banks of Ayr, 

Farew^eel, far ew^ eel ! sweet Balloch- 
myle ! 



YOUXU PEGGY. 

Tlxe— " The last time I cam o'er the muir." 

Young Peggy blooms our bonniest lass, 
Her blush is like the mo:ning, 

1 Lark. 
* Jean Armour. 



The rosy dawn the sprmging grass 
Witli pearly gems adorning: 

Her eyes outshine the radiant beaSBs 
That gild the passing showier. 

And glitter o'er the crystal streams. 
And cheer each freshening flower. 

Her lips more than the cherries bright, 

A richer dye has graced them; 
They charm th' admiring gazer's sight. 

And sweetly teni}*. to taste them ; 
Her smile is, like the evening, mild. 

When feather'd tribes are courting, 
And little lamb ins wanton wild, 

In playful bands disporting. 

Were Fortune lovely Peggy's foe. 

Such sweetness would relent her; 
As blooming Spring unbends the brow 

Of surly, savage Winter. 
Detraction's eye no aim can gain, 

Her winning powers to lessen; 
And spiteful Envy grins in vain. 

The jjoison'd tooth to fasten. 

Ye Powers of Honour, Love, and 
Truth, 

From every ill defend her; 
Inspire the highly -f a vour'd youth 

The destinies intend her; 
Still fan the sweet connubial flame, 

Responsive in each bosom; 
And bless the dear parental name 

With many a filial blossom. 



THE RA*NTIN' DOG THE DADDIE 
O'T. 

Tune—" East neuk o' Fife." 

The subject of this hvely ditty was a girl of 
the name of Elizabeth Paton, a domestic 
servant in the poet's house, and the mother 
of his illegitimate child — " sonsie, smirking, 
dear-bought Bess." " I composed it," he 
says, "pretty early in life, and sent it to a 
young girl, a very particular acquaintance 
of mine, who was at the time under a 
cloud." 

Oir wha my babie-clouts- will buy ? 
Oh wha will tent- me when I cry i 
Wha will kiss me w^here I lie? — 
The rantin' dog the daddie o't. 

Oh wha will own he did the faut? 
Oh wha will buy the groanin' maut 7^^ 



' Baby-clothes. ^ Heed. ^ ]vialt to brew 
ilc to welcome the birth of a child. 



1&8 



BURNS' WORKS. 



Oh wha will tell me how to ca't — 
The rantin' dog the daddie o't. 

When I mount the creepie-chair,* 
Wha will sit beside me there ! 
Uic nie Rob, I'll seek nae mair. 
The rantin' dog the daddie o't. 

Wha will crack to me my lane ? 
Wha will mak me fidgin-fain ?^ 
Wha will kiss me o'er again ? — 
The rantiu' dog the daddie o't. 



MENIE.+ 

Tune—" Johnny's Gray Breeks." 



The chorus of this beautiful lyri£ was bor- 
rowed by L rns ^-om a song coTnposed by 
an Edinburgh gentleman; but it has been 



generally objected to by critics as interfer- 
ing with the sombre sentiments of the 
hues. 

Again rejoicing nature sees 

Her robe assume its x^ernal hues. 

Her leafy locks wave in the breeze, 
All freshly steep'd in morning dews. 

CHORUS. 

And maun I still on Menie dote, 
And bear the scorn that's in her ee ? 

For it's jet, jet black, and itfe lilve a 
hawk. 
And it winna let a body be ! 

In vain to me the cowslips blaw, 
In vain to me the violets spring; 

In vain to me in glen or shaw' 

The mavis and the lintA^diite^ sing. 

The merry ploughboy cheers his team, 
Wi' joy the tentie^ seedsman stalks; 

But life to me's a weary dream, 
A dream of ane that never wauks.'* 

The wanton coot the water skims, 
Amang the reeds the ducklings cry, 

The stately swan majestic swims, 
And everything is blest but I. 

I'he shepherd steeks^ his faulding 

slap,*^ [shrill; 

And owre the moorlands Avhistles 

4 Fidget with delight. 

» Wood. 2 Linnet. » Heedful. « Wakes. 
6 Shuts. 6 Gate. 

* The stool of repentance, on which cul- 
prits formerly sat when making public satis- 
faction in the church. 

t The common abbreviation of Mariamne. 



Wi' wild, unequal, wandering step, 
I meet him on the dewy hill. 

And when the lark, 'tween light and 

dark. 

Blithe waukens by the daisy's side, 

And mounts and bings on fluttering 

wings, [glide. 

A woe ■ worn ghaist I hameward 

Come, Winter, with thy angry howl. 
And raging bend the naked tree; 

Thy gloom will soothe my cheerless 
soul. 
When nature all is sad like me ! 



LAMENT, 

WRITTEN AT A TIME WHEN THE POET 
WAS ABOUT TO LEAVE SCOTLAND. 

Tune—" The Banks of the Devon." 

These verses were first given to the public in 
the columns of the Dumfries Journal. 



O'er the mist-shrouded cliffs of the 
lone mountain straying. 
Where the wild winds of winter vn, 
cessantly rave. 
What woes wring my heart while in- 
tently surveying 
The storm's gloomy path on tha 
breast of the wave! 

Ye foam-crested billows, allow me to 

wail, [native shore; 

Ere ye toss me afar from my loved 

Where the flower which bloom'd 

sweetest in Coila's green vale. 

The pride of my bosom, my Mary'g 

no more! 

No more by the banks of the streamlet 

we'll wander, [in the wave: 

And smile at the moon's rimpled face 

No more shuU my arms cling with 

fondness around her. 

For the dewdrops of morning fall 

cold on her grave. 

No more shall the soft thrill of love 

warm my breast, [tant shore; 

I haste with the storm to a far-dis- 

Where, unknown, unlamented, my 

ashes shall rest, [m.ore. 

And joy shall revisit my bosom no 



SONGS. 



199 



THE LIE WAS A LASS. 
Tune—'' Duncan Davison." 
There was a lass, they ca'd her Meg, 
And she held o'er the moor to spin; 
There was a lad that f oUow'd her. 
They ca'd hmi Dancan Davison. 
The moor was driegh^ and Meg was 

skiegh,- 
Her favour Duncan couldna win ; 
For wi' the rock she wad him knock. 
And aye she shook the temper-pin. 

As o'er the moor they lightly foor,-" 
A burn was clear, a glen was green. 

Upon the banks they eased their 
shanks, 

And aye she set the wheel between : 

But Duncan swore a haly aith, 

That Meg should be a bride the morn, 

Then Meg took up her spinnin' graith,^ 
And tiang them a' out o'er the burn. 

We'll big a house — a wee, wee house. 

And we will live like king and 
queen, 
Sae blithe and merry we will be 

When ye sit by the wheel at e'en. 
A man may drink and no be drunk; 

A man may fight and no \ye slain; 
A man may kiss a bonny lass, 

And aye be welcome back again. 



AFTON WATER. 

Tune—" The Yellow-hair'd Laddie." 

Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy 
green braes, [thy praise; 

Flow gently, I'll sing thee a song in 

My Mary's asleep by tliy murmuring 
stream — [her dream. 

Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not 

Thou stock-dove, whose echo resounds 
through the glen, [thorny den. 

Ye wild whistling blackbirds in yon 
Thou green-crested lapwing, thy 
screaming forbear — [ing fair. 

I charge you disturb not my slumber- 
How lofty, sweet Afton, thy neighbour- 
ing hills, [winding rills; 
Far mark'd with the courses of clear 



1 Tedious. 2 High-minded. 3 Went. 
* Gear. 



There daily I wander as noon rises high, 
My flocks and my Mary's sweet cot in 
my eye. 

How pleasant thy banks and green val- 
leys below, [roses blow- 
Where wild in the woodlands the prim- 
There oft as mild evening weeps over 
the lea, [and me. 
The sweet-scented birk shades my Mary 

Thy crystal stream, Afton, how lovely 
it glides, [resides; 

And winds by the cot where my Mary 

How wanton thy waters hei 'snowy feet 
lave, [thy clear wave. 

As gathering sweet flowerets she stems 

Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy 
green braee, [my lays; 

Flow gently, sweet river, the theme of 

My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring 
stream — [not her dream ! 

Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb 



THE HIGHLAND LASSIE. 

Tune — " The deuks dang o'er my daddy." 

" This," says the poet, " was a composition of 
mine before I was at all known in the 
world. My Highland lassie [Mary] was a 
warm-hearted, charming young creature aa 
ever blessed a man with generous love." 
For an account of this simple, interestiag 
girl, whom the poet's passion has placed in 
*■■ Fame's proud temple," and clothed with 
immortality as with a garment, the reader 
is referred to the introduction to the verses 
entitled, "To Mary in Heaven," p. 219. 
Burns having sent this song to Mary when 
she was residing with her parents in the 
Highlands, her mother saw it, and greatly 
admired it ; and years after the death of 
this gentle girl, whom every one seems to 
have loved, it is said the poor old woman 
was wont to soothe her sorrow by singing 
to her grandchildren the sweet strains in 
which the poet has celebrated the beauty 
and charms of her favourite daughter. Hav- 
ing outlived her husband and many of her 
children, she died in great poverty at 
Greenock in 1822. 

Na-e gentle* dames, though e'er sa© 

fair, 
Shall ever be my Muse's care: 



* Gentle is used here in opposition to sim- 
ple, in the Scottish and old English sense of 
the word. — Nae gentle dames — no high-blood- 
ed names.— CuRRiE. 



200 



BUT?NS' WOI'JvR. 



Their titles a' are empty show; 
Gie me my Highland Lassie, 0. 

Within the glen sae bushy, O, 
Aboon the plains sae rushy, O, 
I set me down wi' right good will, 
To sing my Highland Lassie, O. 

Oh, were yon hills and valleys mine, 
Yon palace and yon gardens fine ! 
The world then the love should know 
I bear my Highland Lassie, U. 

But fickle Fortune frowns on me, 
And I maun cross the raging sea ! 
But while my crimson currents flow, 
I'll love my Highland Lassie, O. 

Although through foreign climes I 

range, 
I know her heart will never change, 
F(jr her bosom burns with honour's 

glow, 
My faithful Highland Lassie, O. 

For her I'll dare the billows' roar, 
For her I'll trace the distant shore. 
That Indian wealth may lustre throw 
Around my Highland Lassie, 0, 

She has my heart, she has my hand. 
By sacred truth and honour's band ! 
'Till the mortal stroke shall lay me low, 
I'm thine, my Highland Lassie, O. 

Fareweel the glen sae bushy, 0! 
Fare weel the plain sae rushy, 0! 
To other lands I now must go, 
To sing my Highland Lassie, O ! 



MARY ! 



Tune — " Blue Bonnets." 

This beautiful song was found amongst the 
poet's manuscripts after his death, inscribed, 
^' A Prayer for Mary." Who Mary was the 
world knows. 

Powers celestial ! whose protection 

Ever guards the virtuous fair, 
While in distant climes I wander, 

Let my Mary be your care; 
Let her form sae fair and faultless. 

Fair and faultless as your own, 
Let my Mary's kindred spirit 

Draw your choicest influence down. 

Make the gales you waft around her 
Soft and peaceful as Iu'T breast; 



lUeathing in the breeze that fans her, 
Soothe her bosom into rest. 

Guardian angels! oh, protect her, 
When in distant lands 1 roam: [me, 

To realms unl^nown while fate exiles 
Make her bosom still my home! 



WILL YE GO TO THE INDIES, MY 
MARY V 

" In my very early years," says the poet, in a 
letter to Mr. Thomson in 1792, " when I was 
thinking of going to the West Indies. I took 
the following farewell of a dear girl [High- 
land Mary] T"— 

Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary, 
And leave auld Scotia's shore ? 

Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary, 
Across the Atlantic's roar ? 

Oh, sweet grow the lime and the 
orange. 

And the apple on the i)ine; 
But a' the charms o' the Indies 

Can never equal thine. 

I hae sworn by the Heavens to my Mary, 
I hae sworn by the Heavens to be 
true; 

And sae may the Heavens forget me 
When I forget my vow I 

Oh, plight me your faith, my Mary, 
And p.Iight me your lily-white hand; 

Oh, plight me your faith, my Mary, 
Before I leave Scotia's strand. 

We hae i^lighted our troth, my Mary, 
In mutual affection to join; " [us! 

And curst he the cause that shall part 
The hour and the moment o' time! 



ELIZA. 
Tune — " Gilderoy. 

From thee, Eliza, I must go. 

And from my native shore; 
The cruel fates between us throw 

A boundless ocean's roar; 
But boundless oceans roaring wide 

Between my love and me. 
They never, never can divide 

My heart and soul from thee! 

Farewell, farewell, Eliza dear. 

The maid that I adore ! 
A boding voic') is in mine ear, 

Wv.^ part U) meet no more! 



soxos. 



201 



The latest throb that leaves my heart. 
While death stands victor by, 

That throb, Eliza, is thy part. 
And thine that latest sigh! 



A FAREWELL TO THE BRETH- 
REN OF ST. JAMES' LODGE, 
TORBOLTON. 

Tune—" Good night, and joy be wi' you a' ! " 

The poet is said to have chanted this " Fare- 
well" at a meeting of St. James' Mason 
Lodge at Torbolton, while his chest was on 
the way to Greenock, and he had just 
written the last song he thought he should 
ever compose in Scotland. The person 
alluded to in the last stanza was Major- 
Generai James Montgomery, who was 
Worshipful Master, while Burns was 
Depute-Master. 

Adieu ! a heart- warm, fond adieu ! 

Dear brothers of the mystic tie ! 
Ye favour d, ye enlighten'd few. 

Companions of my social joy ! 
Though I to foreign lands must hie. 

Pursuing Fortune's slidd'ry ba',' 
With melting heart, and brimful eye, 

I'll mind you still, though far awa'. 

Oft have I met your social band, 

And spent the cheerful, festive night; 
Oft, honour'd with supreme command. 

Presided o'er the sons of light: 
And, by that hieroglyphic bright, 

Which none but craftsmen ever saw ! 
Strong memory on my heart shall 
write 

Those happy scenes when far awa'. 

May freedom, harmony, and love, 

Unite you in the grand design, 
Beneath the Omniscient eye above. 

The glorious Architect Divine ! 
That you may keep the unerring line, 

Still rising by the plummet's lavv', 
Till order bright completely shine. 

Shall be my prayer when far awa'. 

And you, farewell! whose merits claim. 

Justly, that highest badge to wear ! 
Heaven bless . your honour'd, noble 
name. 

To masonry and Scotia dear 1 
A last request permit me here, 

When yearly ye assemble a', 
One roand — I ask it with a tear — 

To him the Bard that's far awa'. 

1 Slippery ball. 



THE SONS OF OLD KILLIE. 

Tune—" Shawnboy." 

Burns having been induced to participate in 
the festivities of the Kilmarnock Mason 
Lodge, which was presided over by his 
friend William Parker, produced the follow- 
ing appropriate song for the occasion :— 

Ye sons of old Killie, assembled by 
Willie, 
To follow the noble vocation ; 
Your thrifty old mother has scarce 
such another 
To sit in that honoured station. 
Pve little to say, but only to pray. 

As praying's the ton of your fashion : 
A prayer from the Muse you well may 
excuse, 
'Tis seldom her favourite passion. 

Ye poAvers who preside o'er the wind 
and the tide, 
Who marked each element's border; 
Who formed this frame with benefi- 
cent aim, 
Whose sovereign statute is order; 
Within this dear mansion may way- 
ward Contention 
Or withered Envy ne'er enter; 
:May Secrecy round be the mystical 
bound. 
And Brotherly Love be the centre ! 



SONG, 



IN THE CHARACTER OF A RUIXEB 
FARMER. 

Tune—" Go from my window, love, do." 

The sun he is sunk in the west. 
All creatures retired to rest, 
While here I sit all sore beset 

With sorrow, grief, and wo; 
And it's 0, fickle Fortune, O ! 

The prosperous man is asleep, 

Nor hears how the whirlwinds sweep; 

But Misery and I must watch 

The surly tempest blow: 
And it's 0, fickle Fortune, O ! 

There lies the dear partner of my breast. 
Her cares for a moment at rest: 
Must I see thee, my youtliful pride. 

Thus brought so very low I 
And it's 0, fickle Fortune, I 



203 



BURNS' WORK!^. 



There lie my sweet babies in her arms, 
No anxious fear tlieir little lieart 

alarms; 
But for tlieir sake my lieart dotli aclie, 
With mauy a bitter throe; 
And it's O, fickle Fortune, U ! 

I once was by Fortune carest, 
1 once could relieve the distrest: 
Now, life's poor support hardly earn'd, 
My fate will scarce bestow: 
And it's O, fickle Fortune, O ! 

No comfort, no comfort I have ! 
How welcome to me were the grave ! 
But then my wife and children dear, 

whither would they go ? 
And it's O, fickle Fortune, O ! 

whither, O whither shall I turn ' 
All friendless, forsaken, forlorn ! 
For in this world Rest or Peace 

1 never more shall know ! 
A-'.n it's O, fickle Fortune, O ! 



THE LASS OF BALLOCHMYLE. 

Tune—" Miss Forkes' Farewell to Banff." 

The beautiful estate of Ballochmyle, which is 
situated on ihe Ayr, in the neighbourhood 
of Mauchline, was at this period of the po- 
et's life transferred from the famil}' of the 
Whitefoords (whose departure he has 
lamented in the lines on "The Braes of 
Ballochmyle'') to Mr. Claud Alexander, a 
g-entleman who had made a large fortune as 
paymaster-general of the East India Com- 
pany's troops at Bengal ; and having just 
taken up his residence at the mansion- 
house, his sister. Miss Wilhelmina Alexan- 
der, was one day walking out through the 
grounds, which appear to have been a fav- 
ourite haunt of Burns'. v,hen she accident- 
ally encountered him in a musing altitude, 
with his shoulder leaning against a tree. 
As the grounds were thought to be strictly 
private, the lady appears to have been 
somewhat startled ; but, having recovered 
herself , passed on, and thought no more of 
the matter. A short lisne afterwards, how- 
ever, she was remmded of the circumstance 
by receiving a letter from the poet, enclos- 
ing the song. " I had roved out." he says, 
" as chance'directed in the favourite haunts 
of my ?»ltife, on the banks of ihc Ayr. to 
view nature in ail the gayety of the vernal 
year. The evening su-i was flaming over 
the distant v/estern hills ; not a breath 
stirred the crimson opening blossom, or tlie 
verdant spreading leaf. It was a golden 
moment for a poetic heart. Such was the 
scene, and such was the hour— when, in a 



corner of my prospect, I spied one of the 
fairest pieces of Nature's workmanship that 
ever cnnvned a poetic landscape or met a 
poet's eye. The enclosed song was the 
v.ork of my return home ; and perhaps it 
but poorly answers what might have been 
expected from such a scene." Much to the 
mortitication of Burns, however, the lady 
took no notice of either the letter or the 
song, although she ultimately displayed a 
high sense of the honour which the genius 
of the poet had conferred on her. She died 
unmarried in 1843, at the age of eighty- 
eight. 

'TwAS even — the dewy fields were 
green. 

On every blade the pearls hang, 
The zephyrs wanton'd round the bean. 

And bore its fragrant sweets alang: 
In every glen the mavis sang, 

All nature listening seem'd the wliile. 
Except where greenwood echoes rang, 

Amang the braes o' Ballochmyle. 

With careless step I onward stray 'd. 

My heart rejoiced in Nature's joy, 
When musing in a lonely glade, 

A maiden fair I chanced to spy; 
Her look was like the morning's eye. 

Her air like Nature's vernal smile, 
Perfection whisper'd, passing by. 

Behold tlie lass o' Ballochmyle ! 

Fair is the morn in flowery May, 

And sweet is night in autumn mild; 
When roving through the garden gav. 

Or wandering in the lonely wild: 
But woman, Nature's darling child ! 

There all her charms she does com- 
pile; 
Even tliere her other "works are foil'd 

By the bonny lass o' Ballochmyle. 

Oh ! had she been a country maid. 

And I the happy country swain, 
Though shelter'd in the lowest shed 

That ever rose on Scotland's plain: 
Through weary winter's wind and rain, 

With joy, wiih rapture, I would toil, 
And nigiitiy to my bosom strain 

The bomiy lass o' Ballochmyle ! 

Then pri^lo might climb the slippery 

steep, 

Where (anie and honours lofty shine; 

And thirst of gold might tempt the 

deep, 

Or downward seek the Indian mine; 



SONG a 



003 



Give me the cot below the piue 
To tend the flocks, or till the soil, 

And every day have joys divine 

With the bonny lass o' Ballochmyle. 



THE BONNY BANKS OF AYR. 

Tune — "Roslin Castle." 

The gloomy night is gathering fast, 
Loud roars the wild inconstant blast; 
Yon murky cloud is foul with rain, 
I see it driving o'er the plain; 
The hunter now has left the moor, 
The scatter'd coveys meet secure; 
While here I wander, prest with care, 
Along the lonely banks of Ayr. 

The Autumn mourns her ripening corn. 
By early Wmter's ravage torn; 
Across her placid, azure sky. 
She sees the scowling tempest fly: 
Chill runs my blood to hear it rave — 
I think upon the stormy wave, 
Where many a danger I must dare, 
Far from the bonny banks of Ayr. 

'Tis not the surging billow's roar, 
'Tis not the fatal, deadly shore; 
Though death in every shape appear, 
The wretched have no more to fear ! 
But round my heart the ties are bound. 
That heart transpierced with many a 

wound; 
These bleed afresh, those ties I tear, 
To leave the bonny banks of Ayr. 

Farewell old Coila's hills and dales. 
Her heathy moors and winding vales; 
The scenes where wretched, fancy 

roves. 
Pursuing past unhappy loves ! [foes ! 
Farewell, my friends ! farewell my 
My peace with these, my love with 

those — 
The bui-sting tears my heart declare; 
Farewell the bonny banks of Ayr ! 



THE BANKS OF DOON. 

FIRST VERSION. 

The following song relates to an incident in 
real life— an unhappy love tale. The unfor- 
tunate heroine was a beautiful and accom- 
plished woman, the daughter and heiress of 



a gentleman of fortune in Carrick. Having 
been deserted bv her lover, the son of a 
wealthy Wigtonshire porprietor, to whom 
she had born a child without the sanction of 
the Church, she is said to have died of a 
broken heart. The poet composed a second 
version of this song in 1792, for the Scots 
3h(S2cal Museum; but it lacks the pathos 
and simplicity of the present one. 

Ye flowery banks o' bonny Doon, 
How can ye bloom sae fair; 

How can ye chant, ye little birds. 
And I sae f u' o' care ! 

Thou'lt break my heart, thou bonny 
bird 

That sings upon the bough; 
Thou minds me o' the happy days 

When my fause love was true. 

Thou'lt break my heart, thou bonny 
bird 

That sings beside thy mate; 
For sae I sat, and sae I sang, 

And wist na o' my fate. 

Aft hae I roved by bonny Doon, 
To see the woodbine twine; 

And ilka bird sang o' its love, 
And sae did I o' mine. 

Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose, 

Frae off its thorny tree; 
And my fause luver staw' the rose. 

But left the thorn wi' me. 



THE A^IERICAN WAR. 

A FRAGMENT. 
Tune— "Kiiliecrankie." 

When Guildford good our pilot stood, 

And did our helm thraw,' man, 
Ae night, at tea, began a plea, 

Within America, man: 
Then up they gat the maskin'-pat,^ 

And in the sea did jaw, 2* man; 
And did nae less, in full Congress, 

Than quite refuse our law, man. 

1 Stole. 
1 Turn. 2 Teapot. 3 Throw. 
* The English Parliament having imposed 
an excise dutv upon tea imported into North 
America, th:- East India Companv sent several 
ships laden with that article to 'Boston ; but, 
on their arrival, the natives went on board by 
force of arms, and emptied all the tea into the 
sea. 



S04 



BUK>;S- WORKS. 



Then tlirougli the lakes, Montgomeiyf 
takes, 

I wat he wasna slaw, man ! 
Down Jjowrie's burn :{: he took a turn. 

And Carleton did ca', man: 
But yet, what-reck, he, at Quebec, 

Montgomery-like § did fa', man: 
Wi' sword in hand, before his band, 

Amang his en'mies a', man. 

Poor Tammy Gage, within a cage. 
Was kept at Boston ha', man;|| 

Till Willie Howe took o'er the knowe 
For Philadelpliia, man; 

W^i' sword and gun he thought a sin 
Guid Christian bluid to draw, man; 

But at New York, wi' knife and fork, 
"Sir-loin he hacked sma', man.*^ 

Burgoyne gaed up, like spur and whip, 

TillFraser brave did fa', man; 
Then lost his way, ae misty day, 

In Saratoga shaw,^ man.** 
Cornwallis fought as long's he dought^ 

And did the buckskins claw, man: 
But Clinton's glaive frae rust to save, 

He hung it to the wa', man. 

Then Montague, and Guildford too. 

Began to fear a fa', man; 
And Sackville doure,'' wha stood the 
stoure,'' 

The German chief to tliraw,^ man; 
For Paddy Burk, like ony Turk, 

Nae mercy had at a', man; 
And Charlie Fox tlirew by the box. 

And loosed his tinkler jaw.ff man.:{:| 



4 Would. *» Could. 6 Stubborn. ^ Dust. 
8 Thwart. 

+ General Montgomery' invaded Canada in 
1775, and took Montreal, the British general, 
Sir Guy Carleton, retiring before him. 

:): A pseudonym for the St. Lawrence. 

§ A compliment to the poet's patrons, the 
Montgomeries of Coilsfield. 

Ij An allusion to General Gage's being be- 
sieged in Boston by General Washington. 

1[ Alluding to an inroad made by Howe, 
when a large number of cattle was destroyed. 

** An allusion to the surrender of General 
Burgoyne's army at Saratoga. 

++ Free-spoken tongue. Tinkers are pro- 
verbial for their po%ver of speech. 

$:J: By the union of Lord North and Mr. 
Fox, m 1783, the heads of the celebrated coa- 
lition. Lord Shelburne v/as compelled to re- 
sign. 



Then Rockingliam took up the game, 

Till deatli did on him ca', man; 
When Shelburne meek held up hhs 
cheek. 

Conform to gospel law, man ; 
Saint Stephen's boys wi' jarring noise. 

They did his measures thraw, man, 
For North and Fox united stocks, 

And bore him to the wa', man. 

Then clubs and hearts were Charli(/s 
cartes. 

He swept the stakes awa', man. 
Till the diamond's ace, of Indian race. 

Led him a sair faux jj as, man;§ § 
The Saxon lads, wi' loud placards," 

On Chatham's boy did ca', man; 
And Scotland drew her pipe, and blew, 

" Up, Willie, waur"* them a', man!* 

Behind the throne then Grenville's 
gone, 

A secret word or twa, man; 
While slee Dundas aroused the class 

Be-north the Roman wa', man: 
And Chatham's wraith,'' in heavenly 
graith, 

(Inspired Bardies saw, man;) 
Wi' kindling eyes cried, "Willie, rise!' 

" Would I hae fear'd them a', man ? 

But, word and blow. North, Fox, f.i:d 
Co., 
Gowff'd'-2 Willie like a ba*, man. 
Till Suthrons raise, and. coost'^ their 
claes 
Behind him in a raw, man; 
And Caledon threw by the drone. 

And did her whittle'^ draw, man; 
And swoor fa' rude, through dirt an<3 
bluid. 
To make it guid in law, man. 



THE BIRKS OF ABERFELDY. 
Tune—" The Birks of Aberfeldy." 

The poet tells us he composed this song on a 
visit which he paid to the beautiful falls of 



B Cheers. '<> Beat. " Ghost. 

J2 Knocked him about. The phrase properly 
refers to the game of golf. *^ DofCed. 
14 Knife. 

§§ An allusion to Mr. Fox's India Bill, which 
threw him out of office ui December, 1783. 



SOXCi^. 



SOS 



Moness, at Aberfeldy, in Perthshire, whi'e 
on his way to Inverness. The air is old and 
sprightly. 

Bonny lassie, will ye go, 
Will ye go, will ye go; 
Bonny lassie, will ye go 
To the birks^ of Aberfeldy? 

Now simmer blinks"^ on flowery braes, 
And o'er the crystal streamlet plays; 
Come, let iis spend the lightsome days 
In the birks of Aberfeldy. 

While o'er their heads the hazels hing 
The little birdies blithely sing. 
Or lightly flit on wanton wing 
In the birks of Aberfeldy. 

The braes ascend, like lofty wa's. 
The foaming stream deep-roaring fa's, 
0' erhung wi' fragrant spreading 
shaws,^ 
The birks of Aberfeldy. 

The hoary cliffs are crown'd wi' flow- 
ers, 
White o'er the linns the burnie pours. 
And rinsing, weets wi' misty showers 
The birks of Aberfeldy. 

Let Fortune's gifts at random flee. 
They ne'er shall draw a wish f rae me, 
Supremely blest wi' love and thee. 
In the birks of Aberfeldy. 



THE BONNY LASS OF ALBANY. 

Tune — " Mary's Dream." 

" The following song," says Chambers, " is 
printed from a manuscript book in Burns' 
hand-writmg in the possession of Mr. B. 
Nightingale of London." The heroine was 
the natural daughter of Prince Charles Ed- 
ward, by Clementina Walkinshaw, with 
whom, it is well known, he lived for many 
years. The Prince afterwards caused her 
to be legitimated by a deed of the parlia- 
ment of Paris in 1787, and styled her the 
Duchess of Albany. 

My heart is ^ae, and unco wae,' 
To think upon the raging sea 
That roars between her gardens green 
And the Lo-_::y lass of Albany. 



^ Birches— Uirchwood. 
3 Wooclft. 

J Sad. 



Tliis lovely maid's of royal blood 
That ruled Albion's kingdoms three. 
But oh, alas! lor her lH)nny face. 
They've wrangd the Lass of Albany. 

In the rolling tide of spreading Clyde 

There sits an isle of high degree. 

And a town of fame whose princely 

name 
Should grace the Lass of Albany. 

But there's a youtli, a witless youth, 
rhat fills the place where she should 

be; 
We'll send him o'er tq his native shore. 
And bring our ain sweet Albany. 

Alas tlie day, and wo the day, 
A false usurper won the gree^ 
Who nov/ commands the towers and 

lands — 
The royal right of Albany. 

We'll daily pray, we'll nightly pray, 

On bended knees most fervently, 

The time may come, v/ith pipe r.11 1 

drum, 
Wie'll welcome liame fair Albany. 



LADY ONLIE. 

Tune— '^Ruffian's Rant." 

A' the lads o' Thorniebank, [B;icky,' 
When tliey gae to the shors o' 

They'll step in and tak a pint 
Wi' Lady Onlie, honest Lucky 1^ 

Lady Onlie, honest Lucky, 

Brevv's guid ale at shore o' Bucky; 

I v.'isli her sale for her guid ale. 
The best on a' the shore o' Bucky. 

Her house sae bien,^ her curcli'* sae 
clean, 

I wat she is a dainty cliucky;^ 
And cheerlie blinks the ingle-gleed^ 

Of Lady Onlie, honest Lucky! 

Lady Onlie, honest Lucky, 
I Brews guid ale at shore o' Bucky; 
I I wisli lier sale for her guid ale, 
I The best on a' the shore o' Bucky 



^ Superiority. 

' Buckhaven. « Goodwifc. 3 Wcl!-''ilcd 
^ Kerchief— a covering for the head. ^ jjear 
"^ Blazing hre. 



206 



BURNS' WORKS. 



BLITHE WAS SHE. 
Tune — " Andrew and his Cutty Gun." 
Blithe, blitlie, and merry was slie, 
Blithe was she butt and ben:' 
Blithe by the banks of Earn, 
And blithe in Glenturit glen. 

By Auchtertyre grows the aik,*^ 

On Yarrow banks the birken shaw;^ 

But Phemie was a bonnier lass 
Than braes o' Yarrow ever saw. 

Her looks were like a flower in May, 
Her smile was like a simmer morn; 

She tripped by the banks of Earn, 
As light's a bird upon a thorn. 

Her bonny face it was as meek 

As ony lamb upon a lea; 
The evening sun was ne'er sae sweet, 

As was the blink o' Phemie's ee. 

The Highland hills I've wander'd Avide, 
And o'er the Lowlands I hae been; 

But Phemie was the blithest lass 
That ever trod the dewy green. 



BONNY DUNDEE. 

Tune — " Bonny Dundee." 

This song appeared in the first volume of the 
Museum. The second verse alone is Burns', 
the first having been taken from a very old 
homely ditty. 

On. whare did ye get that hauver' 
meal bannock ? [ see ? 

Oh, silly blind body, oh, dinna ye 
I gat it frae a brisk young sodger lad- 
die, [Dundee. 
Between Saint Johnston and bonny 
Oh gin I saw the laddie that gae me't ! 
Aft has he doudled'^ me upon his 
knee; [laddie, 
May Heaven protect my bonny Scots 
And send him safe hame to his baby 
and me! 

My blessin's upon thy sweet wee lippie. 
My blessin's upon thy bonny eebree! 

Thy smiles are sae like my blitlie 

sodger laddie, [me! 

Tliou's ave.be dearer and dearer to 



1 In kitchen and parlour. 2 Oak. 3 Birch- 
woods. 

1 Oat. a Dandled. 



But I'll big a bower on yon bonny 

banks, [clear; 

Where Tay rins wimplin' by sae 

And I'll dead thee in the tartan sae 

fine, [dear. 

And mak the a man like thy daddie 



THE JOYFUL WIDOW^ER. 

Tune—" Maggy Lauder." 

I MARRIED with a scolding wife. 

The fourteenth of November; 
She made me weary of my life 

By one unruly mennber. 
Long did 1 bear the heavy yoke. 

And many griefs attended; 
But, to my comfort be it spoke, 

Now, now her Iji'e is ended. 

We lived full one-and-twenty years 

As man and wife together; 
At length from me her course sh« 
steer'd, 

And's gone I know not whither; 
Would I could guess, I do profess, 

I speak, and do not flatter. 
Of all the women in the world, 

I never could come at her. 

Her body is bestowed well, 

A handsome grave does hide her; 
But sure her soul is not in hell. 

The deil could ne'er abide her. 
I rather think she is aloft, 

And imitating thunder; v 
For why, methinks I hear her voice 

Tearing the clouds asunder. 



A ROSEBUD BY MY EARLY 
WALK. 

Tune—'' The Rosebud " 

This song was composed m honour of the 
young lady to whom tbe poet addressed the 
lines beginnmg, " beauteous rosebud, 
young and gay." She was Miss Jenny 
Cruikshank, draighter of Mr. William 
Cruikshank, one of the masters of the High 
Sciiool of Edinburgh. 

A ROSEBUD by my early walk, 
Adown a corn-enclosed bawk,' 
Sae gently bent its thoray stalk. 
All on a devv'v morning. 



An open space in a cornfield. 



SONGS. 



907 



Ere twice tlie shades o' dawn are tied, 
In a' its crimson glory spread 
And drooping rick the dewy head, 
It scents the early morning. 

Within the bush, her covert nest 
A little linnet fondly prest, 
The dew sat chilly on her breast 

Sae early in the morning. 
She soon shall see her tender brood, 
The pride, the pleasure o' the wood, 
Amang the fresh green leaves bedew 'd, 

Awake the early morning. 

So thou, dear bird, young Jenny fair ! 
On trembling string, or vocal air, 
Shall sweetly pay tlie tender care 

That tends thy early morning. 
So thou, sweet rosebud, young and gay, 
Shalt beauteous blaze upon the day. 
And bless the parent's evening ray 

That watch'd thy early morning. 



BRAVING ANGRY WINTER'S 
STORMS. 

Tune—" Neil Gow's Lamentation for Aber- 
cairny." 

The two following songs v^re written in 
praise of Miss Margaret Chalmers, a relative 
of the poet's friend, Mr. Gavin Hamilton. 

^^'^ERE, braving angry Winter's 
storms. 

The lofty Ochils rise, 
Far in their shade my Peggy's charms 

First blest my wondering eyes ; 
As one who by some savage stream, 

A lonely gem surveys, 
Astonish'd, doubly marks its beam. 

With art's most polish'd blaze. 

Blest be the wild sequester'd shade, 

And blest the day and hour. 
Where Peggy's charms I first survey'd. 

When first I felt their power! 
The tyrant Death, with grim control. 

May seize my fleeting breath; 
But tearing Peggy from my soul 

Must be a stronger death. 



MY PEGGY'S FACE. 

Tune—" My Peggy's Face." 

M\^ Peggy's face, my Peggy's form 
The frost of hermit age might w^arm ; 



My Peggy's w^orth, my Peggy's mind. 
Might charm the first of humanliind. 
I love my Peggy's angel air, 
Her face so truly, heavenly fair, 
Iler native grace so void of art. 
But I adore my Peggy's heart. 

The lily's hue, the rose's dye. 
The kindling lustre of an eye; 
Who bat owns their magic sw^ay ! 
Who but knows they all decay' 
The tender thrill, the pitying tear. 
The generous purpose, nobly dear, 
The gentle look, that rage disarms— 
These are all immortal charms. 



THE BANKS OF THE DEVON. 

Tine — " Bhanarach dhonn a chruidh." 

These verses," says Burns, in his notes in 
the Musizal Museum^ " were composed on 
a charming girl, Miss Charlotte Hamilton, 
who is now married to James M. Adair, 
physician. Ske is sister to my worthy friend 
Ga'vm Hamilton of Mauchline, and waii 
born on the banks of the Ayr ; but was, at 
the time I wrote these lines, residing at 
Harvieston, in Clackmannanshire, on the 
romantic banks of flie mtle river Devon. ' 
The poet, it has been said, wished to be 
something more than a mere admirer c£ 
this young lady ; but 



M 



eg was -eaf as Ailsa Craig ;" 



for the m.usic of his Ivre appears to have 
fallen on ears that would not charm. 

How pleasant the banks of the clear- 
winding Devon, 
With green-spreading bushes, and 
flowers blooming fair! 
But the bonniest flower on the banks of 
the Devon [of the Ayr. 

Was once a sweet bud on the braes 

Mild be the sun on this sweet- blushing 

fiower, [in the dew ! 

In the gay rosy morn, as it bathes 

And gentle the fall of the soft vernal 

shower, [to renew. 

That steals on the evening each leaf 

Oh, spare the dear blossom, ye orient 

breezes, [the dawn! 

With ffhill hoary wing, as ye usher 

And far be thou distant, thou reptile, 

that seizes [and lawn ! 

The verdure and pride of the garden 



208 



BURNS' WORKS. 



Let Bourbon exult in liis gay gilded 

lilies, [lier ])roud rose! 

And England, triumphant, display 

A fairer than either adorns the green 

valleys [dering tiows. 

l)ev< 



Where Devon, sweet 



ron, mean- 



MACPIIERSON'S FAREWELL. 

Tune—" M'Pherson's Rant.' 

This fine song, which Lockhart terms " a 
grand lyric," and Carlyle " a wild, siormful 
song-, that dwells in ear and mind with 
strange tenacity," was designed by the poet 
as an improvement of a well-known old 
ditty entitled, " Macpherson's Lament," 
and w^hich is said to have been written by a 
Highland freebooter a night or two before 
his execution. As tl;is hero's history con- 
tains some elements of interest, w£ borrow 
the following account of him from Mr. Rob- 
ert Chambers' recent edition of the poet's 
works :— " James Macpherson was a noted 
Highland freebooter of uncommon per- 
sonal strength, and an excellent performer 
on the violin. After holding the counties of 
Aberdeen, Banff, and Moray in fear for 
some years, he was seized by Duff of Braco, 
ancestor of the Earl of Fife, and tried before 
the sheriff of Banffshire, (November 7, -lyw) 
along with certain gipsies who had been 
taken in his company. In the prison, while 
he lay under sentence of death, he com- 
posed a song and an appropriate air, the 
former commencing thus .— 

'I've spent my time in rioting, 

Debauch'd my health and strength ; 
I squander'd fast as pillage came, 
And fell to shame at length. 
But dantonly, and wantonly. 

And raniingly I'll gae ; 
I'll play a tune, and dance it roun' 
Beneath the gallows-tree.' 

"When brought to the place of execution, on 
the Gallows-hill of Banff, (Nov. 16) he 
played the tune on his violin, and then 
asked if any friend was present who would 
accept the instrument as a gift at his hands. 
No one coming- forward, he indignantly 
broke • the violin on his knee, and threw 
av.'ay the fragments ; after which he sub- 
mitted to his fate. The traditionary accounts 
of Macpherson's immense prowess are justi- 
iied by his sword, which is still preserved 
in Duff House, at Banff, and is an imple- 
ment of great length and weight— as well 
as his bones, v/hich were found a few years 
ago, and were allowed by all who saw them 
to be much stronger than the bones of or- 
dinary men." 

Faiiewell, ye dungeons dark and 
strong, 

The wretch's destinie! 
Macpherson's time will not be long 

On yonder g:illows-tree. 



Sae rantingly, .sa<^ ^valltonly, 
Sae daunt ingly gaed he: 

He play'd a spring, and danced it 
round, 
Below the gallows-tree. 

Oh! what is deatli but parting breath?-^ 

On mony a bloody plain 
I've dared his face, and in this place 

I scorn him yet again! 

Untie these bands from off my hands. 
And bring to me my sword ! 

And there's no a man in all Scotland 
But I'll brave him at a word. 

I've lived a life of sturt and strife; 

I die by treacherie. 
It burns my heart 1 must depart 

And not avenged be. 

Now farewell light — thou sunshine 
bright, 

And all beneath the sky ' 
May coward shame distain his name, 

The wretch that dares not die ! 



WHISTLE, AND I'LL COME TO 
YOU, MY LAD. 

This version of an old fragment the poet 
composed for the second volume of the 
Musenui ; but he afterwards altered and 
extended it for Thomson's collection. 

On, whistle, and I'll come to you, my 
lad; ^ L^ad- 

Oh, whistle, and I'll come to you, my 

Though father and mother should baith 
gae mad, [lad. 

Oh, whistle, and Til come 10 you, my 

Come down the back stairs when ye 

come to court me; 
Come down the back stairs when ye 

come to court me; [naebody see, 

Come down the back stairs and let 
And come as ye werena coming to ra« 



STAY, MY CHARMER. 

Tine— " An Gille dubh ciar dhubn. ' 

Stay, my charmer, can you leave me? 

Cruel, cruel to deceive me? [me; 

Well you know how much you grieve 

Cruel charmer, can you go ? 

Cruel charmer, caix you go ? 



SONGS. 



209 



By my love so ill requited ; 

By the faith you fondly plighted; 

By the pangs of lovers slighted, 

Do not, do not leave me so ! 

Do not, do not leave me so ! 



STRATIIALLAN'S LAMENT. 

JVilham, fourth Viscount of Strathallan, whom 
the poet celebrates in these lines, fell on the 
rebel side at CulloJen in 1746. The poet, 
perhaps ignorant of this fact, speaks of him 
as havmg survived the battle, and fied for 
safety to some mountain fastness. 

Thickest night, o'erhang my dwelling ! 

Howling tempests, o'er me rave ! 
Turbid torrents, wintry swelling. 

Still surround my lonely cave ! 

Crystal streamlets gently flowing, 
Busy haunts of base mankind, 

^^>stern breezes softly blowing, 
Suit not my distracted mind. 

Id the cause of right engaged, 
Wrongs injurious to redress, 

"y^onour's war we strongly waged, 
But the heavens denied success. 

Farewell, fleeting, ficlvle treasure, 
'Tween Misfortune and Folly shared ! 

Farewell Peace, and farewell Pleasure! 
Farewell flattering man's regard ! 

Ruin's wheel has driven o'er us, 
Not a hope t-iat dare attend, 

The wide world is all before us- 
But a world without a friend ' 



THE YOUNG HIGHLAND ROVER. 

Tune—" Morag." 

Loud blaw the frosty breezes. 

The snaw the mountains cover; 
Like winter on me seizes, 

Since my young Highland rover 

Far wanders nations over. 
Where'er he go, where'er he stray. 

May Heaven be his v/arden ; 
Return him safe to fair Strathspey 

And bonny Castle-Gordon ! 

The trees now naked groaning. 
Shall soon wi' loaves be hinging, 

The birdies dowie^ moaning. 
Shall a' be blithely singing, 

" 1 Sadly. 



And every flower be springing. 
Sae I'll rejoice the lee-lang day. 

When by his mighty warden 
My youth s return'd to fair Strathspey 5 

And bonny Castle-Gordon. 



RAVING WINDS AROUND HER 
BLOWING. 

Tune—" Macgregar of Ruara's Lament." 

" I composed these verses," says Burns, " on 
Miss Isabella M'Leod of Raasay, alluding to 
her feelings on the death of her sister, and 
the still more melancholy death of hsr 
sister's husband, the late Earl of Loudon, 
who shot himself out of sheer heartbreak at 
some mortitication he suffered from the 
deranged state of his finances." 

Raving winds around her blowing, 
Yellow leaves the woodlands strewing. 
By a river hoarsely roaring, 
Isabella stray 'd deploring: — 
" Farewell hours that late did measure 
Sunshine days of jo}' and pleasure; 
Hail thou gloomy night of sorrow. 
Cheerless night that knows no morrow! 

" O'er the past too fondly wandering, 
On the hopeless future pondering; 
Chilly Grief my life-blood freezes^ 
Fell Despair my fancy seizes. 
Life, thou soul of every blessing, 
Load to Misery most distressing, 
Oh, how gladly I'd resign thee, 
And to dark oblivion join thee ! " 



MUSING ON THE ROARING 
OCEAN. 

Tune — " Druimion Dubh." 

" I composed these verses," says the poet, 
" out of compliment to a Mrs. Maclachlan, 
whose husband v/as an officer in tlie East 
Indies." 

Musing on the roaring ocean, 
W^hich divides my love anvd me; 

Wearying Heaven in warm devotion, 
For his weal where'er 'he be. 

Hope and Fear's alternate billow 
Yielding late to Nature's law; 

Whispering spirits round my pillow 
Talk of him that's far awa'. 

Ye whom sorrow never wounded. 



Y 



e WHO never 



shed a tear. 



Care-iintroubled, joy-surrounded. 
Gaudy Day to you is dear. 



210 



BURNS' WORKS. 



Gentle Night, do tliou befriend me; 

Downy Sleep, the curtain draw; 
Spirits kind, again attend me, — 

Talk of him that's far awa' ! 



BONNY PEGGY ALISON. 

Tune—" Braes o" Balquhidder." 

I'LL kiss thee yet, yet, 

And I'll kiss thee o'er again; 

And I'll kiss the yet, yet, 
My bonny Peggy Alison ! 

Ilk care and fear, when thou art near, 

I ever mair defy them, O; 
Young kings upon their hanseP throne 

Are nae sae blest as I am, O ! 

Wlicn in my arms, wi' a' thy charms, 
1 clasp my countless treasure O, 

1 seek nae mair o' Heaven to share, 
Than sic a moment's pleasure, O ! 

And by thy een, sae bonny blue, 
I swear I'm thine for ever, ! — 

And on thy lips I seal my vow, 
And break it shall I never, O I 



THE CHEVALIER'S LAMENT. 

Tune—'' Captain O'Kean." 

" Yesterday," wrote Burns to his friend Clepr- 
horn,"as I was riding through a tract of 
melancholy, joyless moors, between Gallo- 
way and Ayrshire, it being Sunday, I 
turned my thoughts to psalms, and hymns 
and spiritual songs ; and your favourite air, 
' Captain O'Kean,' coming at length into my 
head, I tried these words to it. I am toler- 
ably pleased with the verses ; but as I have 
only a sketch of the tune. I leave it with you 
to try if they suit the measure o! the music. ' 
Cleghorn answered that the words 
delighted him, and fitted the tune exactly. 
" 1 wish," added he, " that you would send 
nae a verse or two more ; and, if you have 
nc objection, I would have it in the Jacobite 
style. Suppose it should be sung after the 
fatal field of Culloden, by the unfortunate 
Charles." The poet took his friend's advice, 
and infused a Jacobite spirit into the first 
verse as well as the second. 

The small birds rejoice in the green 
leaves returning. 
The murmuring streamlet winds 
through the vale; 



1 New-won. 



The hawthorn trees blow, in the dew 
of the morning. 
And wild scatter'd cowslips bedeck 
the green dale; 
But what can give pleasure, or what 
can seem fair. 
While the lingering moments are 
number'd by care ? 
No flowers gayly springing, nor birds 
sweetly singing, [despair. 

Can soothe the sad bosom of joyless 

The deed that I dared, could it merit 
their malice, [his throne ? 

A king, and a father, to place on 
His right are these hills, and his right 
are these valleys, 
Where the wild beasts find shelter, 
but I can find none ; 
But 'tis not my sufferings thus wretch- 
ed, — forlorn. 
My brave gallant friends ! 'tis your 

ruin I mourn; 
Your deeds proved so loyal in hot 
bloody trial — 
Alas ! can I make you no sweeter return? 



OF A' THE AIRTS THE WlSfD CAN 
BLAW. 

Tune—" Miss Admiral Gordon's Strathspey. 

" I composed this song:," says the poet, " out 
of compliment to Mrs. Burns, during our 
honeymoon.'' 

Of a' the airts the wind can blaw, 

I dearly like the west. 
For there the bonny lassie lives. 

The lassie I lo'e best: [row,' 

There wild woods grow, and rivem 

And mony a hill between: 
But day and night, my fancy's flight 

Is ever wi' my Jean. 

I see her in the devry flowers, 

I see her sweet and fair : 
I hear her in the tunefu' )oirds, 

I hear her charm the air : 
There's not a bonny flower that springs 

By fountain, shaAv,- or green. 
There's not a bonny bird that sings. 

But minds me o' my Jean.* 



1 Roll. 2 Wood. 

* The two following stanzas were written 
some years afterwards, by Mr. John Hamilton, 
music-seller, Edinburgh, and from their sim- 



•OTTC?S. 



sn 



OH, 



WERE I ON PARNASSUS' 
HILL. 



Tune—" My love is lost to me." 

1"his song was also produced in honour of 
Mrs. Burns, shortly before she took up her 
residence at EUisland as the poet's wife. It 
is thought to have been composed while he 
was one day gazing towards the hill of 
Corsmcon, at the head of Nithsdale, and 
beyond which, though at some distance, 
was the quiet vale where lived his '' bonny 
Jean." 

Oh, were I on Parnassus' liill ! 
Or liad of Helicon my fill; 
That I might catch poetic skill 

To sing how dear I love thee. 
But Nith maun be my Muse's well, 
My Muse maun be thy bonny sel ; 
Oi> Corsincon I glower' and spell, 

And write how dear I love thee. 

Then come, sweet Muse, inspire my lay! 
For a' the lee-lang simmer's day 
I couldna sing, I couldna say. 

How much, how dear, I love thee. 
I see thee dancing o'er the green. 
Thy waist see jimp,^ thy limbs sae 

clean, ^ 
Thy tempting lips, thy roguish oen — 

By heaven and earth I love thee ! 

By night, by day, a-field, at hame, 
The thoughts o' thee my breast inflame; 
A.nd aye I muse and sing thy name — 

I only live to love thee. • 

Though I were doom'd to wander on 
Beyond the sea, beyond the sun, 
Till my last weary sand was run; 

Till then — and then I'd love thee. 



J Stare. 



2 Small. " Well-Shaped. 



plicity and beauty are really worthy of form- 
ing the corollary to this fine song :— 

" Oh, blaw, ye westlin' winds, blaw saft 

Amang the leafy trees, 
Wi' balmy gale, frae hill and dale, 

Bring hame the laden bees ; 
And bring the lassie back to me 

That's aye sae neat and clean ; 
Ae smile o' her wad banish care, 

Sae charming is my Jean. 

'''What sighs and vows amang the knowes 

Hae pass'd atween us twa ! 
How fond to meet, how wae to part, 

That night she gaed awa' ! 
The powers aboon can only ken, 

To whom the heart is seen. 
That nane can be sae dear to me 

As my sv/eet lovely Jean ! " 
The two following were also written as an 
addition to this song by Mr. William Rcid. of 



THE FETE CHAMPETRE. 

Tune—'' Killiecrankie." 

The poet's brother, Gilbert Burns, give<? the 
following account of the origin of this 
ballad : — "■ When Mr. Cunninghame of 
Enterkin came to his estate, two mansion- 
houses on it, Enterkin and Annbank, wer» 
both in a ruinous state. Wishing to intro- 
duce himself with some e'c/ai to the county, 
he got temporary erections made on the 
banks of the 'Ayr, tastefully decorated with 
shrubs and flowers, for a supper and ball, to 
which most of the respectable families in the 
county were invited. It was a novelty in the 
county, and attracted much notice. A dis- 
solution of parliament was soon expected, 
and this festivity was thought to be an 
introduction to a canvass for representing 
the county. Several other candidates were 
spoken of, particularly Sir John Whitefoord, 
then residing at Cloncaird, commonly pro- 
nounced Glencaird, and Mr. Boswell, the 
well-known biographer of Dr. Johnson. 
The political views of this festive assem- 
blage, which are alluded to in the ballad, if 
they ever existed, were, however, laid aside 
as Mr. Cunninghame did not canvass the 
county." 

Oh, wha will to Saint Stephen's house, 

To do our errands there, man? 
Oh, wha will to Saint Stephen's house, 

O' th' merry lads of Ayr, man ? 
Or will we send a man-o'-law? 

Or will we send a sodger ? 
Or him v/ha led o'er Scotland a' 

The meikle' Ursa-Major ? 

Come, will ye court a noble lord. 
Or buy a score o' lairds, man ? 

For worth and honour pawn their word. 
Their vote shall be Glencaird's man ? 

^ Great. 

the firm of Brash & Reid , booksellers, Glasgow, 
and have sometimes been printed as the 
poet's :— 

" Upon the banks o' flowing Clyde 

The lassies busk^ them braw . 
But when their best they hae put on. 

My Jennie dings- them a' ; 
In hamely weeds she far exceeds 

The fairest o' the town ! 
Baith sage and gay confess it sae. 

Though drest in russet gown. 

" The gamesome lamb, that sucks its dam, 

Mair harmless canna be ; 
She has nae faut, (if sic ye ca't,) 

Except her love for me : 
The sparkling dew, o' clearest hue, 

Is like her shining een : 
In shape and air nane can compare 

Wi' my sweet lovely Jean." 



Dress. 



2 Excels. 



212 



BURNS' VvOKKS. 



Ane gies them coin, ane gies them wine, 
Anither gies them clatter f 

Annbunk^ wha guess'd the ladies' taste. 
He gives a Fete Chanipetre. 

When Love and Beauty heard the news, 

The gay greenwoods amang, man; 
Where gathering Howers and busking^ 
bowers, . [man ; 

They heard the blackbird's sang, 
A vow, they seal'd it with a kiss, 

Sir Politics to fetter. 
As theirs alone, the patent-bliss, 

To hold a Fete Champetre. 

Then mounted Mirth, ongleesome wing, 

O'er hill and dale she flew, man; 
Ilk wimpling burn, ilk crystal sjjring, 

Ilk glen and shaw^ she knew, man ; 
She summon'd every social sprite. 

That sports by wood or water. 
On the bonny banks of Ays to meet. 

And keep this Fete Champetre. 

Cauld Boreas, wi' his boisterous crew. 

Were bound to stakes like kye,^man, 
And Cynthia's car, o' silver fu'. 

Clamb up the starry sky, man; 
Reflected beams dwell in the streams. 

Or down the current shatter; 
The western breeze steals through the 
trees 

To view this Fete Champetre. 

How many a robe sae gayly floats! 

What sparkling jewels glance, man! 
To Harmony's enchanting iiotes, 

As moves the mazy dance, man. 
The echoing wood, the winding flood. 

Like paradise did glitter. 
When angels met, at Adam's yett,^ 

To hold their Fete Champetre. 

When Politics came there, to mix 
And make his ether-stane, man! 

He circled round the magic ground. 
But entrance found he nane, man :* 



'^ Talk. 3 Dressing. ^ Wood. 
f Gate. 



5 Cattle. 



* " Alluding to a superstition," says Cham- 
bers^ 'Svhich represents adders as forminjj 
annually from their shuiprh certain little an- 
nular stones of streaked colouring-, which 
arc occasionally found, and the real orio-jn 
of v.hich is supposed bv antiquaries to be 
.Prui;!i-al." 



He blush'd for shame, he quat his 
name. 

Foreswore it, every letter, 
Wi' humble prayer to join and shara 
This festive Fete Chanipetre. 



THE DAY RETURNS. 

Tune—" Seventh of November." 

In a letter to Miss Chalmers, an intim9,te fe- 
male friend of the poet's, he saysregardmg 
this song : — " One of the most toleraole 
things I have done for some time is these 
two stanzas I made to an air a musicai gen- 
tleman of my acquaintance [Captain Riddel 
of Glenriddel] composed for the anniver- 
sary of his wedding day." 

The day returns, my bosom burns, 

The blissful day we twa did meet, 
Though Winter wild in tempest toil'd. 

Ne'er Summer sun was half sae 
sweet. 
Than a' the pride that loads the tide. 

And crosses o'er the sultry line ; 
Than kingly robes, than crowns and 
globes, [mine ! 

Heaven gave me more — it made thee 

While day and night can bring delight, 

Or nature aught of pleasure give, 
While joys above my mind can move, 

Fof thee, and thee alone, I live ! 
When that grim foe of life below 

Comes in between to make us part, 
The iron hand that breaks our band 

It breaks my bliss — it breaks my 
heart. 



THE DISCREET HINT. 

" Lass when your mitlier is frae hame. 

May I but be sae bauld 
As come to your bower %vindow. 

And creep in frae the cauld ? 
As come to your bower window. 

And when it 's cauld and wat, 
Warm me in thy fair bosom — 

Sweet lass, may I do that ? " 

"Young man, gin ye should be sao 
kind, 

When our gudewife's frae hame, 
As nome to my })ower window, 

Whare I am laid my lane. 



SONGS. 



213 



To warm thee in my bosom — 
Take tent.^ I'll tell tbee what, 

Tlie way to me lies through the kirk — 
Young man, do ye hear that ? " 



THE LAZY MIST. 

TuKE— " Here's a health to my true love." 
The lazy mist hangs from the brow 

of the hill, [winding rill ! 

Concealing the course of the dark- 
llow languid the scenes, late so 

sprightly, appear, [year. 

As Autunm to Winter resigns the pale 
Tlie forests are leafless, the meadows 

are brown, [flown : 

And all the gay foppery of Summer is 
Apart let me wander, apart let me 

muse, [Fate pursues ! 

How quick Time is flying, how keen 

How long I have lived — but how much 
lived in vain, [remain ! 

How little of life's scanty span may 

What aspects old Time, in his pro- 
gress, has worn, [torn ! 

What ties, cruel Fate in my bosom has 

How foolish, or worse, till our summit 
is gain'd ! 

^\nd downward, how weaken'd, how 
darken'd, how pain'd ! 

This life's not worth having with all 
it ean give — [sure must live. 

For somethmg beyond it poor man 



I IIAE A WIFE 0' MY AIN. 

Tune—" Naebody." 

The following' sprightly lines were written 
shortly after the poet had welcomed home 
his wife to his new house on the farm of 
Elhsland — the first winter he spent in which 
he has described as the happiest of his life. 

I HAE a wife o' my ain — 

I'll partake wi' naebody 
I'll tak cuckold frae nane, 

I'll gie cuckold to naebody. 
1 hae a penny to spend, 

There — thanks to naebody ; 
I liae naething to lend — 

I'll borrov^ frae naebody. 



I am naebody's lord — 

I'll be slave to naebody : • 
I hae a guid braid sword, 

I'll tak dunts ^ frae naebody ; 
I'll be merry and free, 

I'll be sad for nael)ody i 
If naebody care for me, 

I'll care for naebody. 



1 Heed. 



AULD LANG SYNE. 

Burns has described tliis as an old song r.nd 
tune which had often thrilled through his 
soul : and m communicating it to his friend, 
George Thomson, he professed to have re- 
covered it from an old man's smging ] and 
exclaimed regardmg it : — "■ Light be the 
turf on the breast of the Heaven-inspired 
poet who composed this glorious frag- 
ment!" The probability is, however, that 
the poet was indulging in a little mystifica- 
tion on the subject, and that the entire song 
was his own composition. The second and 
third verses — describing the happy days of 
youth — are his beyond a doubt. 

Shout.d auld acquaintance be forgot, 
And never brought to min' ? 

Should auld acquaintance be forgot. 
And days o' lang syne V 

For auld lang syne, my dear. 

For auld lang syne, 
We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet 

For auld lang syne ! 

We twa hae run about the braes. 
And pu'd the gowans fine ; 

But we've wander'd mony a weary foot 
Sin' auld lang syne. 

We twa hae paidl't i' the burn, 
Frae morning sun till dine : 

But seas between us braid hae roar'd 
Sin' auld lang syne 

And here's a hand my trusty fiere,^ 

And gies a hand o' thine ; 
And we'll tak a right guid wiliie 
waught,"'^ 

For auld lang syne ! 

And surely ye'll be your pint-stoup. 

And surely I'll be mine ; 
And we'll tak a cup o' kindness yet, 

For auld lang syne. 

^ Blows. 
' Friend. ^ Draught. 



214 



BURNS' WORKS. 



MY BONNY MARY^ 

TuNB— " Go fetch to me a pint o' wine." 

The first four lines of this song are from an 
old ballad composed in 1636, by Alexander 
Lesly of Edin, on Doveran side, grand- 
father to the celebrated Archbishop Sharpe 
—the rest are Burns'. 

Go fetcli to me a pint o' wine, 

And fill it in a silver tassie,' 
That I may drink, before I go, 

A service to my bonny lassie; 
The boat rocks at the pier o' Leith; 

Fu' loud the wind blaws frae the 
ferry ; 
The ship rides by the Berwick -law. 

And 1 maun leave my bonny Mary. 

The trumpets sound, the banners fly, 

The glittering spears are ranked 
ready; 
The shouts o* war are heard afar, 

The battle closes thick and bloody, 
But it's not the roar o' sea or shore 

Wad make me langer wish to tarry; 
Nor shout o' war that's heard afar — 

It's leaving thee, my bonny Mary. 



MY HEART WAS ANCE AS 
BLITPIE AND FREE. 

Tune — " To the weaver's gin ye go." 

The chorus of this song is taken from a very 
old ditty — the rest is the production of the 
poet. 

My heart was ance as blithe and free 
As simmer days were lang, 

But a bonny westlin' weaver lad 
Has gart me change my sang. 

To the weavers gin ye go, fair 
maids, 
To the weavers gin ye go; 
I rede' you right, gang ne'er at 
night, 
To the weavers gin ye go. 

My mither sent me to the town, 

To warp- a plaiden wab; 
But the weary, weary warpin' o't 

Has gart^ me sigh and sab, 

A bonny westlin* weaver lad 
Sat working at his loom ; 



» Cup. 
* Warn. 2 Prepare for the loom. ^ ]\f ^de. 



He took my heart as wi' a net. 
In every knot and thrum.* 

I sat beside my warpin'-wheel. 

And aye I ca'd it roun'; 
But every shot and every knock. 

My heart it gae a stoun.* 

The moon was sinking in the west 

Wi' visage pale and wan. 
As my bonny westlin' weaver lad 

Convey'd me through the glen. 

But what was said, or what was done, 

Shame fa' me gin I tell; 
But, oh ! I fear the kintra*^ soon 

Will ken as weel's mysel. 



BR AW LADS OF GALA WATER. 

Tune—" Gala Water." 

The air and chorus of this song are both very 
old. This version Burns wrote for the 
Scots Musical Mtiseuin ; but he was so en- 
amoured wit'n the air, that he afterwards 
wrote another set of words to it for his 
friend Thomson, which will be found at p, 
250. 

Br AW, braw lads of Gala Water; 

Oh, braw lads of Gala Water. 
I'll kilt' my coats aboon my knee. 

And follow my love through 
the water. 

Sae fair her hair, sae brenf^ her brow, 
Sae bonny blue her een, my dearie; 

Sae white her teeth, sae sweet her 
mou', 
The mair I kiss she's aye my dearie. 

O'er yon bank and o'er yon brae. 

O'er yon moss amang the heather; 
I'll kilt my coats aboon my knee, 

And follow my love through the 
water, 

Do-wTi amang the broom, the broom, 
Do\^Ti amang the l:'room, my dearie, 

The iassie lost her silken snood, '^^ 
That cost her mony a blirt and 
bleary. 3 



4 Thread. '" Start. ^ Country. 

1 Tuck up and fix. " High and smooth. 
3 Sigh and tear. 

* The snood or ribband with which a Scot- 
tish lass braided her tiair had an emblematical 
signification, and applied to her maiden char- 
acter. It was exchanged for the curch. toy, or 
I coif, when she i''?' '-;: Iv marri-irre into the 



SONGS. 



215 



HER DADDIE FORBAD. 

Tune— " Jumpin' John." 
Her daddie forbad, her minnie forbad ; 

Forbidden slie wouldua be: [brew'd^ 
She wadna trow't the browst she 

Wad taste sae bitterlie 

The lang lad they ca' Jumpin' John 

Beguiled the bonny lassie, 
The lang lad they ca' Jumpin' John 

Beguiled the bonny lassie. 

A cow and a calf, a ewe and a hauf , 
Andthretty guid shillin's and three; 

A very guid tocher,^ a cotter-man's 
dochter. 
The lass with the bonny black ee. 

HEY, THE DUSTY MILLER. 

Tune—" The Dusty Miller." 

Hey the dusty miller. 

And his dusty coat; 

He will win a shilling 

Or he spend a groat. 

Dusty vv^as the coat, 

Dusty was the colour. 
Dusty was the kiss 
I got frae the miller. 

Hey, the dusty miller; 
And his dusty sack; 
Leeze me on the calling 
Fills the dusty peck. 

Fills the dusty peck, 

Brings the dusty siller; 
I wad gie my coatie 
For the dusty miller. 



THENIEI 



MENZIE'S BONNY 
MARY. 



Tune— ''The Ruffian's Rant." 

In coming by the brig o' Dye, 
At Darlet we a blink did tarry; 

As day was dawin in the sky. 

We drank a health to bonny Mary. 

1 She wouldn't believe the drink she brew'd. 
2 Dower. 

matron state. But if the damsel was so unfor- 
tunate as to loose pretensions to the name of 
maiden Avithout gaining a right to that of 
matron, she was neither permitted to use the 
snood nor advance to the graver dignity of 
the curch.— Scott. 



Theniel Menzie's bonny Mary, 
Theniel Menzie's bonny Mary, 

Charlie Grregor tint' his pladie, 
Kissin' Theniel's bonny Mary. 

Her een sae bright, her brow sae white. 
Her haffet^ locks as brown's a berry • 

And aye they dimpl't wi' a smile, ' 
The rosy cheeks o' bonny Mary„ 

We lap and danced the lee-lang day, 
Till piper lads were wae and weary; 

But Charlie gat the spring to pay. 
For kissin' Theniel's bonny Mary. 



WEARY FA' YOU, DUNCAN 
GRAY. 

Tune — " Duncan Gray." 

This first version of an old song was written 
for the A/useuM, The poet afterwards com- 
posed another and better version for the 
collection of his friend Thomson, which will 
•be found at p. 243. 

Weary fa' you, Duncan Gray — 

Ha, ha, the girdin'' o't ! 
Wae gae by you, Duncan Gray — 

Ha, ha; the girdin' o't ! 
When a' the lave'^ gae to their play. 
Then I maun sit the lee-lang day. 
And jog the cradle wi' my tae. 

And iv' for the girdin' o't. 

Bonny was the Lammas moon — 

Ha, ha, the girdin' o't ! 
Glowerin' a' the hills aboon — 

Ha, ha, the girdin o't ! 
The girdin' brak, the beast cam down, 
I tint' my curch-^ and baith my slioon— 
Ah ! Duncan, ye'ro an unco loon — 

Wae on the bad girdin' o't ! 

But, Duncan, gin ye'll keep your aith. 

Ha, ha, the girdin' o't ! [breath — 

I'se bless you wi' my hindmost 

Ha, ha, the girdin' o't ! 
Duncan, gin ye'll keep your aith — 
The beast again can bear us baith. 
And auld Mess Jolm will mend the 
skaith,= 
And clout^ the bad girdin' o't. 



1 Lost. 2 Temple. 
1 Rinding. 2 Others. ^ Lost. ^ Cap. & Harm 
® Patch up. 



BUKNS' WORKi;. 



TIIE PLOUGHMAN. 

Tune— "Up with the ploughman." 

The fourth and fifth verses only of this piece 
are by Burns, the remainder by some older 
writer. 

Ti:k ploughman lie's a bonny lad, 

llis mind is ever true, jo; 
His garters knit below his knee, 

His bonnet it is blue, jo. 

Then up wi' my ploughman lad, 
And hey my merry ploughman ! 

Of a' the trades that I do ken, 
Commend me to the ploughman ! 

My ploughman he comes hame at e'en, 

He's aften wat and weary; 
Cast afE the wat, put on the dry, 

And gae to bed, my dearie ! 

I will wash my ploughman's hose. 
And I wall dress his o'erlay;^ 

I will mak my ploughman's bed, 
And cheer him late and early. 

I hae been east, I hae been west, 
] liae been at Saint Johnston; 

Ti;i- lionniest sight that e'er I saw 
^^ as the ploughman laddie dancin'. 

Snaw white stockin's on his legs. 
And siller buckles glancin'; 

A guid blue bonnet on his head — 
And oh, but he was handsome ! 

Commend me to the barn yard, 

And the corn-mou,* man; 
I never gat my coggie fou, 

Till I met wi' the ploughman. 



LANDLADY, COUNT THE LAWIN. 

Tune—" Hey Tutti, Taiti." 

The first two verses of this song were sup- 
plied by Burns; the others belong to apolit- 
ical ditty of earlier date. 

Landt.ady, count the lawin 
The dav is near the dawin, 



1 Cravat. 

^ Reckoning. 

* The recess left in the stack of corn in the 
bam :!s the sheaves are removed to the thrash- 
ing floor. 



Yc're a' blind drunk, boys. 
And I'm but jolly fou.^ 
Hey tutti, taiti. 
How tutti, taiti— 
Wlia's fou now? 

Cog and ye were aye fou. 
Cog and ye w^ere aye fou, 
I wad sit and sing to you 
If yc were aye fou. 

AVeel may ye a' be ! 

Ill may we never see ! 

God bless the king, boy 
And the companie i 
Hey tutti, taiti. 
How tutti, taiti- 
Wha's fou now "! 



TO DAUNTON ME. 

Tune — " To daunton me." 

The blude-red rose at Yule may blaw, 
The simmer lilies bloom in snaw. 
The frost may freeze the deepest sea; 
But an auld man shall never daunton^ 
me. 

To daunton me, and me so young, 
Wi' his fause heart and flatt'ring 

tongue. 
That is the thing you ne'er shall see ; 
For an auld man shall never daunton 

me. 

For a' his meal and a' his maut, 
For a' his fresh beef and his saut. 
For a' his gold and white monie. 
An auld man shall never daunton me. 

Ris gear- may buy him kye and yowes. 
His gear may buy him glens ansl 

knowes; 
But me he shall not buy nor fee, [me. 
For an auld man shall never daunton 

He hirples^ twa-fauld as he dow,-* 
Wi' his teethless gab" and his auld b -fid 
pow,** [bleer'd ^e. 

And the rain dreeps down frae his led 
That auld man shall never daunton me. 

2 Full. 

' Rule— intimidate. ^ Wcdih. ^ Limps 
* Can. * Mouth. ^ Head: 



SONGS. 



217 



COME BOAT ME O'ER TO 
CHARLIE 

Tlne— '' O'er the Water to Charlie." 

Come boat me o' er, come row me o'er, 
Come boat me o'er to Charlie; 

I'll gie John Ross another bawbee, 
To boat me o'er to Charlie. 

We'll o'er the water and o'er the sea, 
We'll o'er the water to Charlie; 

Come weel, come woe, we'll gath 
er and go, 
And live or die wi' Charlie 

I lo'e weel mv Charlie's name. 
Though some there be abhor him. 

But oh, to see auld Nick gaun haine. 
And Charlie's faes before hmi ! 

I swear and vow by moon and stars, 
And sun that shines so early, 

If I had twenty thousand lives, 
I'd die as aft for Charlie. 



EATTLIN'. ROARIN' WILLIE. 

Tune— " Ratthn'. roarin' WilHe." 

" The hero of this chant." says Bums, " was 
one of the worthiest fellows in the world — 
\Villiam Dunbar, Esq., writer to the S/g-/u'!, 
Edinburgh, and colonel of the Crochallan 
corps— a club of wits, who took that title at 
the' time of raising the fencible regiments." 
The last stanza only was the work of the 
poet. 

O KATTLTN', roarin' Willie, 

Oh, he held to the fair. 
And for to sell his fiddle. 

And buy some other ware; 
But parting wi' his fiddle, 

The saut tear blin't his ee; 
And rattlin'. roarin' Willie, 

Ye're welcome hame to me ! 

O Willie, come sell your fiddle. 

Oh, sell your fiddle so fine, 
O Willie come sell your fiddle, 

And buy a pint o' wine ! 
If I should sell my fiddle. 

The warl' would think I was mad ; 
For mony a rantin' day 

My fiddle and I hae'had. 

As I cam by Crochallan, 
I cannily keekit ben — 



Rattlin', roarm' Willie 

Was sitting at you board en'; 
Sitting at yon board en'. 

And amang guid companie; 
Rattlin', rq^irin" V\'illie, 

Ye're welcome hame to me I 



MY HOGGIE.* 

Tune — " What will I do gin my hoggie die ? '' 

What will I do gin my hoggie die ? 

My joy, my pride, my hoggie! 
My only beast, I had nae mae, 

And vow but I was vogie!' 

The lee lang night we watch'd the 
fauld, 

Me and my faithfu' doggie; 
^^'e heard nought but the roaring linn, 

Amang the braes sae scroggie;'^ 

But the houlet cried f rae the castle v/a'. 
The biutter^ frae the boggle, 

The tod^ replied upon the hill, 
I trembled for my hoggie. 

When day did daw, and cocks did craw, 
The morning it was foggie; 

An unco tyke'' lap o'er the dike. 
And maist. ha'S kili'd my hoggie. 



UP IN THE MORNING EARLY. 

The chorus of this song is old ; but the two 
stanzas are Burns'. 

CHORUS. 

Up in the mornino-'s no for me, 
Up in the morning early; 

When a' the hills are cover'd wi ' 
snaw, 
I'm sure it's v/inter fairly. 

Cauld blaws tlie wind frae east to 
west. 

The drift is driving sairly; 
Sae loud and shrill Tliear the blast, 

I'm sure it's winter fairly. 

1 Vain. - Full of stunted bushes. ^ Mire- 
snipe. ■» Fox. ^ a strange dog. 

* Hoggie— 3. young sheep after it is smeared, 
and before it n first shorn. 



218 



BURNS' WORKS. 



The birds sit chittering-' in the thorn, 
A' day they fare but sparely; 

And lang's the night f rae e'en to morn, 
I'm sure it's winter fairly. 



I'M O'ER YOUNG TO MARRY YET. 

Tune — " I'm o'er young to marry yet." 

I AM my mammy's ae bairn, 
Wi' unco' foliv 1 weary, sir; 

And lying in a man's bed, 

I'm fley'd- wad mak me eerie, ^ sir. 

I'm o'er young to marry yet, 

I'm o'er young to marry yet, 
I'm o'er young — 'twad be a sin 
To tak me f rae my mammy yet. 

My mammy coft* me a new gown. 
The kirk maun hae the gracing o't , 

Were I to lie wi' you, kind sir, 
I'm fear'd ye'd spoil the lacing o't. 

Hallowmas is come and gane, 

The nights arc lang in winter, sir, 

And you and I in ae ])ed, 

In trouth I dare nae venture, sir. 

Fu' loud and shrill the frosty wind 
Blaws through the leafless timmer,^ 
sir ; 

But if ye come this gatc^ again, 
I'll a aider be ffin simmer, sir. 



THE WINTER IS PAST 

The winter it is past, and the sum- 
mer's come at. last. 
And the little birds sing on every tree ; 
Now everything is glad, while I am 
very sad. 
Since my true love is parted from me. 

The rose upon the brier, by the waters 

running clear, [the bee. 

May have charms for the linnet or 

Their little loves are blest, and their 

little hearts at rest. 

But my true love is parted from me. 



• Shivering. 

* Strange. ^ Afraid ^ Timorous. * Bought. 
Trees. « VVav. 



My love is like the sun, in the finua- 
ment does run, 
For ever is constant and true; 
But his is like the moon, that wanders 
up and down, 
And is every month changing anew. 

All you that are in love, and cannot it 
remove, 
I pity the pains you endure : 
For experience makes me know that 
you hearts are full o' woe, 
A woe that no mortal can cure. 



OH, 



WILLIE BREW'D A PECK O' 
MAUT. 



Tune — " Willie brew'd a peck o' maut.' 

The poet's account of the origin of this song 
IS as follows . — " The air is Allan Master- 
ton's, the song mine. The occasion of it 
was this— Mr. William Nicol of the High 
School, Edinburgh, being at Moffat during 
the autumn vacation, honest Allan — who 
was at that time on a visit to Dalswinton — 
and I went to pay Nicol a visit. We had 
such a joyous meeting that Masterton and I 
agreed, each in our own way, that we should 
celebrate the business.'' 

Oh, Willie brew'd a peck of maut, 
And Rob and Allan came to pree;* 

Three blither hearts, that lee-lang 
night. 
Ye wadna find in Christendie. 

We are na fou, we're na that fou, 
But just a drappie in our ee; 

The cock may craw, the day may daw, 
And aye we'll taste the barley bree. 

Here are we met, three merry boys, 
Three merry boys, I troAv, are we; 

And mony a night we've merry been, 
And mony mae we hope to be ! 

It is the moon — I ken her horn, 
That's blinkin' in the lift sae hie; 

She shines sae bright to wile us hame. 
But, by my sooth, she'll wait a wee! 

Wha first shall rise to gang awa', 
A cuckold, coward loon is he ! 

Wha last beside his chair shall fa'. 
He is the king amang tis three ! 



Taste. 



X 



SOISGS. 



219 



TO MxiRY IN HEAVEN. 

Tune—" Death of Captain Cook." 

The story of Mary Campbell has been briefly 
alluded to in the memoir of the poet, and in 
the notes to the Correspondence. She be- 
longed to the neighbourhood of Dunoon, a 
beautiful watering-place on the Clyde, and 
was in the service of Colonel Montgomery 
of Coilstield when the poet made her ac- 
quaintance, and afterwards in that of Gavin 
Hamilton. They would appear to have been 
seriously attached to each other. When 
Jean Armour's father had ordered her to 
relinquish all claims on the poet, his 
thoughts naturally turned to Mary Camp- 
bell. It was arranged that Mary should 
give up her place vvith the view of making 
preparations for their union ; but before 
she went home they met in a sequestered 
spot on the banks of the Ayr. Standing on 
either side of a purling brook, and holding 
a Bible between them, they e.xchanged vows 
of eternal fidelity. Mary presented Inm with 
her Bible, the poet giving his own in e.x- 
change. This Bible has been preserved, 
and on a blank le;'.f, in the poet's hand- 
writing, is inscribed, "And ye shall not 
swear by my name falsely ; I am the Lord," 
(Lev. xix. 12.) On the second volume, 
" Thou shalt not forswear thyself, but shalt 
perform unto the Lord thine oath." (Matt. 
V. 33.) And on another h! ink leaf his name 
and mark as a Royal Arch mason. The 
lovers never met again, Mary Campbell 
having died suddenly at Greenock. Over 
her grave a monument has been erected by 
the admirers of the poet. On the third an- 
niversary of her death, Jean Armour, then 
his wife, noticed that, towards the evening, 
"he grew sa.d about something, went into 
the barn-yard, where he strode restlessly up 
and down for some time, although repeat- 
edly asked to come in. Immediately on 
entering the house, he sat down and wrote 
'To Mary in Heaven,'" v,'hich Lockhart 
characterizes " as the noblest of all his bal- 
lads." 

Thou ling' ring star, v.-ith less'ning ray, 

That lovest to greet the early morn, 
Again thoti usher'st in the day 

My Mary from my soul was torn. 
O Mary ! dear departed shade ! 

Where is thy place of blissful rest ? 
See'st thou thy lover lowly laid ? 

Hear'st thou the groans that rend 
his breast ? 

That sacred hour can I forget, 

Can 1 forget the hallow'd grove, 
Wliere by the winding Ayr we met, 

To live one dxiy of parting love 1 
Eternity will not efface } pa ■: ; 

Those records dear of transporia 
Thy image at our last embrace, 

Ah ! little thought we 'twas our last! 



Ayr, gurgling, kiss'd his pebbled shore, 

O'erhung with wild woods, thick'n- 
ing green, 
The fragrant birch, and hawthorn hoar, 

Twined amorous round the raptured 
scene ; 
The flowers sprang wanton to be prest, 

The birds sang love on every spray — 
Till too, too soon, the glowing v/est 

Proclaim 'd the speed of winged day. 

Still o'er these scenes my memory 
wakes. 
And fondly broods v/ith miser care I 
Time but the impression stronger 
makes, 
As streams their channels deeper 
wear. 
My Mary! dear departed shade! 

Where is thy place of blit-sr'ul rest 1 
See'st thou thy lover lowly laid V 
Hear'st thou the groans that rend 
his breast ? 



THE LADDIES BY THE BANKS 

0' NITH. 

Tune — "■ Up and waur them a'." 

The following ballad originated in a contest 
for the representation of the Dumfries 
burghs, which took place in September, 
1789, between the former member. Sir James 
Johnston of Westerhall, who was supported 
by the court and the Tories, and Captain 
Miller of Dalswinton, the eldest son of the 
poet's landlord, who had the interest of the 
Duke of Queensberry and the Whigs. As 
Burns hnd the wannest veneration for in- 
dividuals of both parties, he wished to 
avoid taking any active part on either side, 
and contented himself therefore with pen- 
ning this piece chiefly against the Duke of 
Queensberry, the largest landed proprietor 
in Nuhsdale, and for whose character he 
seeems to have entertained the utmost de- 
testation. The allusion in the first verse is 
to tlie vote his Grace gave on the regency 
question, when he deserted the king, his 
master, in whose household he held office, 
and supported the right of the Prince cf 
Wales to assume the government without 
the consent of Parliament. 

TiTE laddies by the banks o' Nitli 
VVad trust his (irace wi' a', Jamie; 

But he'll sair' them as he sair'd the 
king, 
Turn tail and rin awa', Jamie. 



Serve, 



220 



BURNS' WORKS. 



Up and wuui-'- tlieiu a' Jamie, 
Up and waur them a'; [o't, 

The Johnstons liae the guidin' 
Ye turncoat Whigs, awa'. 

The day he stood liis coiintrj^'s friend, 
Or gaed her faes a claw, Jamie, 

Or frae puir man a blessin' \van. 

That dajthe duke ne'er saw, Jamie. 

But wha is he, the country's boast, 
Like him there is na twa, Jamie; 

There's no a calhxnt^ tents^ the kye,^ 
But kens o' Westerha', Jamie. 

To end the wark here's Whistlebirck,""" 
Lang may his whistle hlaw, Jamie; 

And Maxwell true o' sterlmg blue. 
And we'll be Johnstons a', Jamie, 

Up and waur them a', Jamie, 
Up and waur tlicm a', [o't, 

The Johnstons hae the guidin' 
Ye turncoat Whigs, awa'. 



THE FFVE CARLINES. 

Tune — " Chevy-chace." 

This is another ballad which the poet penned 
on iheconiesicd election mentioned above. 
It represents the live burghs in cleverly- 
drawn figurative characters — Dumfries, 
as Maggy on the banks of IS'iih : An- 
nan, as Blinking Bess of Annandale ; Kirk- 
cudbright, as Whiiky jean of Galloway ; 
Sanquhar, as Black Joan frae Crichton 
Peel ; and Lochmaben, as Marjory of the 
Many Lochs^each of which is more or IcoS 
locally appropriate. 

There w^ere five carlines' in the south, 

They fell npon a scheme, 
To send a lad to Lon'on town, 

To bring them tidings hame. 

Not only bring them tidings hame, 
But do their errands there; 

And aiblins^ gowd and honour baith 
Might be that laddie's share. 

There was Maggy by the hanks o' 
Nith, 
A dame Avi' pride enongh ; 



2 Beat. 3 Boy 4 Tends. '■> Cows. 

1 Old women. ^ Perhaps. 

♦Alexander Birtwhistle, Esq., merchant in 
Kirkcudbright, and provost of the burgh. 



And Marjory o" ii;(; Mony Lochs, 
A carline auid and teugh. 

And Blinkin Bess of Annandale, 
That dwelt near Solway-side, 

And Whisky Jean, that took lier gill 
In Galloway sae wide. 

And Black Joan, frae Crichton Peel.liik 

O' gipsy kith and kin; — 
Five wigiiter'^ carlines werena foun' 

The south countrie within. 

To send a lad to Lon'on town, 

They met upon a day; 
And mony a knight, and niony a laird, 

Their errand fain wad gae. 

Oh, mony a knight, and mony a laird, 

This errand fain wad gae; 
But nae ai:e could their fancy please, 

Oh, ne'er ane but twae. 

The first he was a belted knight,* 

Bred o' a Border clan; 
And he wad gae to Lon'on town, 

Might nae man him withstan'; 

And he Avad do their errands weel. 

And meikle he wad say; 
And ilka ane at Lon'on court 

Wad bid to him guid day. 

Then neist cam in a sodger youth, f 
And spak wi' modest grace. 

And he wad gae to Lon'on town, 
If sae their pleasure was. 

He wadna hecht* them courtly gifts, 
Nor meikle speech pretend; 

But he wad hecht an honest heart 
Wad ne'er desert his friend. 

Now, w^ham to choose, and wham re 
fuse, 

At strife thir carlines fell ; 
For some had gentlefolks to please, 

And some wad please themsel. 

Then out spak mim-mou'd^ Meg o' 
Nith, 

And she spak up wi' pride, 
And she w^ad send the sodger youth, 

Whatever might betide. 



3 More pov.-crful. '' Promise. ^ Priw 
mouthed. 

*Sir J. Johnston, 
t Captain Miller. 



S0NG3. 



For tlie auld guidman:}; o' Lon'on court 

She dkiiia care a pin ; 
But slie wad send a sodger youth 

To greet his eldest son.g 

Then up sprang Bess of Annandale, 

And swore a deadly aith, 
Says, " I will send the Border knight 

Spite o' you carlines baith. 

" For far-off fowls liae feathers fair, 
And fools o' change are fain; 

But 1 hae tried this Border knig' 
And I'll try him yet again." 

Then Whisky Jean spak owre her 
drink, 

" Ye wee] ken, kimmers a', 
The auld guidman o' Lon'on court, 

His back's been at the wa'. 

" And mony a friend that kiss'd his 
cup 

Is now a fremit^ wight, 
But it's ne'er be said o' Whisky Jean, 

I'll send the Border knight." 

Says Black Joan frae Crichton Peel, 
A carline stoor '' and grim, — 

** The auld guidman, "and the young 
guidman, 
For me may sink or swim ; 

" For fools will prate o' right and 

wrang, 
• While knaves laugh in their sleeve ; 
But wha blows best the horn shall 
win, 
I'll spier nae courtier's leave." 

Then slow raise Marjory o' the Lochs, 
And wrinkled was her brow , 

Her ancient weed was russet gray, 
Her auld Scots bluid was true. 

" The Lon'on court set light by me — 

I set as light by them ; 
And I will send the sodger lad 

To shaw that court the same. " 

Sae how this weighty plea may end, 
Nae mortal wight can tell : 

God grant the king, and ilka man, 
May look weel to liimsel ! 

^ Estranged. ''' Austere. 

t George III. 
§ The Prince of Wales. 



THE BLUE-EYED LASSIE. 



AlR- 



The Blue-eyed Lass. 



The " Blue-Eyed Lassie" was Miss Jean Jef- 
frey, daughter of the Rev. Mr. Jeffrey of 
Lochmaben, in Dumfriesshire, at whose 
house the poet was a frequent visitor. On 
the occasion of his first visit, the young 
lady, then a charming, blue-eyed creature 
of eighteen, did the honours.of the table, 
aiid so pleased the poet, that next morning 
at breakfast he presented her with the fol- 
lowing passport to fame, in the form of one 
of his finest songs. Miss Jeffrey afterwards 
went out to New York, where she married 
an American gentleman of the name of 
Renwick, to whom she bore a numerous 
family. One of her daughters became the 
wife of Captain VVilks, ot the United States 
Navy. 

I GAED a waefu' gate ' yestreen, 

A gate, I fear, I'll dearly rue ; 
I gat my death frae twa sweet een, 

Twa lovely een o' bonny blue. 
'Twas not her golden ringlets bright ; 

Her lips like roses wat wi' dew ; 
Her heaving bosom, lily-white — 

It was her een sae bonny blue. 

She talk'd, she smiled, my heart she 
wiled ; [how ; 

She charm'd my soul — T wist na' 
And aye the stound,- the deadly 
wound, 

Cam frae her een sae bonny blue. 
But spare to speak, and spare to speed,* 

She'll aiblins ^ listen to my vow : 
Should she refuse, I'll lay my dead^ 

To her twa een sae bonny blue. 



WHEN FIB ST I SAW FAIR 
JEANIE^S FACE. 

Air—" Maggie Lauder." 

This song first appeared in the JVew York 
Mirror in 1846, with the following notice cf 
the herome, Mrs. Renwick {neu Miss Jean 
Jeffrey) mentioned above i—'' The lady to 
whom the following verses — never before 
published — were addressed, known to the 
readers of Burns as the ' Blue-eyed Lassie,' 
is one of a race whose beauties and virtues 
formed for several generations, the inspira- 



1 Road. " Pang. ^ Perhaps. ''• Death. 

* A proverbial expression— Give me the 
chance of speaking and the opportunity of 
gaming her favour. 



ae2 



BURNS' WORKS. 



tion of the masters of Scottish song. Her 
mother was Af,me3 Armstrong, in whose 
honour the touching words and beautiful 
air of ' Roslin Castle' were composed. 

When first I saw fair Jeanie's face, 

I couldna tell v.liat ail'd me, 
Jkly heart went fluttering pit-a-pat, 

My een tliey almost fail'd me. 
She's aye sae neat, sae trim, sae tight, 

All grace does round her hover, 
Ae look deprived me o' my heart. 
And I became a lover. 

She's aye, aye sae blithe, sae gay, 
She's aye so ]>lithe and cbeerie ; 
She's aye sae bonny , blithe, and gay, 
Oh, gin I were her dearie ! 

Had I Dundas' whole estate, 

Or riopetoun's wealth to shine in ; 
Did warlike laurels crown my brow. 

Or humbler bays entwining — 
I'd laid them a' at Jeanie's feet. 

Could I but hope to move her, 
And prouder than a belted kniglit, 

I'd be my Jeanie's lover. 

She's aye, aye sae blithe, &c. 

But sair I fear some happier swain 

Has gained sweet Jeanie's favour : 
If so, may every bliss be hers. 

Though I maun never have lier ; 
But gang she east, or gang she west, 

'Twixt Forth and Tweed all over, 
Wliile men have eyes, or ears or taste, 

She^ll always find a lover. 

She's aye, aye say blithe, &c. 



MY LOVELY NANCY. 

Tune—" The Quaker's Wife." 

rhe following- song," says the poet, in a 
letter to Clarinda, to whose charms, prob- 
ably, we owe the lines, " is one of my latest 
productions ; and I send it to you as I 
would do anything else, because it pleases 
myself :" — 

TniNE am I, my faithful fair. 
Thine, my lovely Nancy ; 

Every pulse along my veins. 
Every roving fancy. 

To thy bosom lay my heart, 
There to throb and languish ; 

Though despair had wrung its core. 
That would heal its anguish. 



Take away these rosy lips. 
Rich with balmy treasure ; 

Turn away thine eyes of love. 
Lest 1 die with pleasure. 

What is life when wanting love ? 

Night without a morning: 
Love's the cloudless summer sun. 

Nature gay adorning. 



TIBBIE DUNBAR. 

Tune—" Johnny M'Gill." 
On, wilt thou go wi' me, sweet Tibbie 

Dunbar? [Dunbar? 

Oh, wilt thou go wi' me, sweet Tibbie 
Wilt thou ride on a horse, or be drawn 

in a car, . [Dunbar? 

Or walk by my side, oh, sweet Tibbie 

I care na thy daddie, his lands and his 
money, [lordly: 

I care na thy kin, sae high and sae 

But say thou wilt hae me for better for 
waur — [Dunbar ! 

And come in thy coatie, sweet Tibbie 



WHEN ROSY MAY COMES IN 

Wr FLOWERS. 

Tune—" The gardener wi' his paidle." 

The poet afterwards produced a new version 
of this song, with a change in the burden at 
the end of the stanzas. 

When rosy May comes in wi^flowers, 
To deck her gay green-spreading bow- 
ers, 
Then busy, busy, are his hours — 

The gardener wi' his paidle. ' 
The crystal waters gently fa' 
The merry birds are lovers a'; 
The scented breezes round him blaw — • 

The gardener wi' his paidle. 

When purple morning starts the hare 
To steal upon her early fare, [pair- 
Then through the dews he maun re- 

The gardener wi' his paidle. 
When clay, expiring in the west, 
The curtain draws of nature's rest, 
He flies to her arms he lo'es the besst— 

The gardener wi' his paidle. 



Hoe. 



SONGS. 



323 



MY HARRY WAS A GALLANT • 
GAY. 

Tune—" Highlander's Lament." 

The chorus of this song, the poet tells us, he 
picked up from an old woman in Dunblane, 
the rest being his own. The old song was 
composed on a Highland love affair ; but 
this version was evidently intended for a 
Jacobite melody. 

My Harry was a gallant gay, 

Fu' stately strode lie on the plain; 

But now he's banish'd far away, 
I'll never see hmi back again. 

Oh, for him back again ! 
Oh, for him back again ! 
I wad gie a' Knockhaspie's land 
For Highland Harry back again. 

When a' the lave^ gae to their bed, 
I wander dowie'^ up the glen; 

I set nie down and greet^ my fill, 
And aye I wish him back again. 

Oh, were some villains hangit high, 
And ilka body had their aiu ! 

Then I might see the joyfu' sight, 
My Highland Harry back again. 



BEWARE 0' BONNY ANN. 

Tune — " Ye gallants bright." 

'• I composed this song," says the poet, "out 
of compliment to Miss Ann Masterton, the 
daughter of my friend, Mr. Allan Master- 
ton, composer of the air, ' Strathallan's La- 
ment.' " 

Ye gallants bright, I rede' ye right. 

Beware o' bonny Ann; 
Her comely face sae fu' o' grace, 

Your heart she will trepan."^ 
Her een sae bright, like stars by night, 

Her skin is like the swan ; 
Sae jimply^ laced her genty waist, 

That sweetly ye might span. 

Youth, Grace, and Love, attendant 
move, 

And Pleasure leads the van: [arms, 
Li a' their charms, and conquering 

They Avait on bonny Ann. 



1 Rest. 2 Sad. 3 Cry. 
1 Warn. 2 Ensnare. 3 Tightly, 



The captive bands may chain the hands, 
But love enslaves the man; 

Ye gallants braw, I rede you a', 
Beware o' bonny Ann ! 



JOHN ANDERSON, MY JO. 

Tune — "■ John Anderson, my Jo." 

John Anderson, my jo'^ John, 

When we were first acquent; 
Your locks were like the raven, 

Your bonny brow was brent. ^ 
But now your brow is held, John, 

Your locks are like the snaw; 
But blessings on your frosty pow,^ 

John Anderson, my jo. 

John Anderson, my jo, John, 

We clamb the hill thegither; 
And mony a canty^ day, John, 

We've had wi' ane anither. 
Now we maun totter down, John, 

But hand in hand we'll go; 
And sleep thegither at the foot, 

John Anderson, my jo. 



THE BATTLE OF SHERIFF-MUIR. 

Tune — " Cameronian Rant." 

" On cam ye here the fight to shun, 

Or herd the sheep wi' me, man ? 
Or were ye at the Sherra-muir, 

And did the battle see man ?" 
'•' I saw the battle sair and tough, 
And reekin' red ran mony a sheugli;' 
My heart, for fear, gaed sough- for 

sougli. 
To hear the thuds, ^ and see thecluds, 
0' clans f rae woods, in tartan duds,"' 

Wha glaum'd^ at kingdoms three, 
man. 

" The red-coat lads, wi' black cockades. 
To meet them vrerna slaw, man; 

They rush'd and push'd, and bluid out- 
gush 'd, 
And^iony a bouk^did fa', man: 

The great Argyle led on his files, 

I wat they glanced for twenty miles. 



1 Love— dear. ^ Smooth. ^ Head. ■* Happy. 
1 Ditch. 2 Sigh. 3 Knocks. * Clothes. 
5 Grasped^ ^ Trunk, body. 



224 



BURNS' WORKS. 



Tlioy liack'd and hasli'd while broad- 
swords clasli'd, [and smasli'd 
And tlirongh they dash'd, and hew'd 
'Till fey' men died awa', man. 

" Ikit had ye seen the philabegs, 
And skyrin** tartan trews, man; 
When in the teeth they dared our 
\Miigs 
And covenant true-blues, man; 
In lines extended lang and large, 
AVhen bayonets o'erpower'd the targe, 
And thousands hasten'd to the charge, 
"Wi' Highland wrath they frae the 

sheath 
Drew blades o' death, till out o' breath, 
They fled like frightened doos,^ 
man," 

" Oh, how deil, Tarn, can that be true? 

The chase gaed frae the north, man; 
I sav.' mysel they did pursue 

The horsemen back to Forth, man: 
And at Dunblane, in my ain sight. 
They took the brig wi' a' their might, 
Ajid straught to Stirling wiug'd their 

flight; 
But, cursed lot! the gates were shut; 
And monya huntit, poor red-coat. 

For fear amaist did swarf, '^ man! 

" My sister Kate cam up the gate 

Wi' crowdie unto me. man; 
She swore she saw some rebels run 

Frae Perth unto Dundee, man: 
Their left-hand general had nao skill, 
The Angus lads had nae good will 
That day their neibors' bluid to spill; 
For fear by foes that tliey should lose 
Their cogs o' brose, they scared at 
blows, 
And hameward fast did flee, man. 

" They've lost some gallant gentlemen 

Amangthe Highland clans, man; 
I fear my Lord Panmure is slain, 

Or fallen in Whiggish hands, man: 
Now wad ye sing this double fight. 
Some fell for wrang, and some for 

right; 
And mony bade the world guid-night; 
Then ye may tell how pell and mell. 
By red claymores, and muskets' knell, 
Wi' dying yell, the Tories fell. 
And Whigs to hell did flee. man. 



■^ Predestined, * Shining. '" Pigeons. '^° 
Swoon. 



BLOOMING NELLY. 
TcNE— " On a Bank of Flowers." 

On a bank of flowers, in a summer day. 

For summer lightly drest. 
The youthful blooming Nelly lay. 

With love and sleep opprest; 
When Willie, wandering through the 
wood, 

Who for her favour oft had sued. 
He gazed, he wish'd, he fear'd, he 
blush'd. 

And trembled where he stood. 

Her closed eyes, like weapons sheath- 
ed, 

Were seal'd in soft repose; 
Her lips, still as she fragrant breathed, 

It richer dyed the rose. 
The springing lilies sweetly prest. 

Wild- wanton, kiss'dher rival breast; 
He gazed, he wish'd, he fear'd, he 
blush'd — 

His bosom ill at rest. 

Her robes, light wa\dng in the breeze, 

Her tender limbs embrace! 
Her lovely foim, her native ease. 

All harmony and grace! 
Tumultuous tides his pulses roll. 

A faltering, ardent kiss he stole; 
He gazed, he wish'd, he fear'd, he 
blush'd. 

And sigh'd his very soul. 

As flies the partridge from the brake. 

On fear-inspired wings. 
So Nelly, starting, half-awake, 

Avray affrighted springs: 
But Willie follow'd — as he should; 

He overtook her in the wood; 
He vow'd, he pray'd, he found the 
maid 

Forgiving all and good. 



MY HEART'S IN THE HIGH- 
LANDS. 

Tune—" Faille na Miosg." 

"The first half stanza of this song," says 
Burns, " is old ; the rest is mine." 

My heart's in the Highlands, my hear', 

is not here; [the deer; 

My heart's in the Highlands, a-chasing 



SONGS. 



22Q 



A- chasing: tlie wild deer, and following 

tlie roe — [1 go. 

My heart's in the Highlands wherever 

Farewell to the Highlands, farewell to 
the North, [oi worth: 

The birthplace of valour, the coujitiy 
Wherever I wander, wherever 1 rove, 
The hills of the Highlands forever 1 
love. 

Farewell to the mountains high cover'd 
with sno w ; [leys belo w ; 

P'arewell to the straths and green val- 

Farewell to the forests and wild-hang- 
ing woods; [ing floods. 

Farewell to the torrents and loud- pour- 

My heart's in the Highlands, my heart 
is not here; [the deer; 

My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing 

A -chasing the wild deer, and following 
the roe — [I go. 

My heart's in the Highlands wherever 



THE BANKS OF NITH. 

Tune—" Robie donna Gorach." 

The Tliames flows proudly to the sea, 

Where royal cities stately stand; 
But sweeter flows the Nith, to me, 
.ere Cunini 
command: 
When shall I see that honour'd land, 

That winding st i-eam I love so dear ! 
Must wayward Fortune's adverse hand 
Forever, ever keep me here ? 

How lovely, Nith, thy fruitful vales, 

Where spreading hawthorns gayly 
bloom ! 
Hov/ sweetly wind thy sloping dales, 

Where lambkins wanton through 

the broom ! [doom, 

Though wandering, now, must be my 

Far from thy bonny banks and braes, 
May there my latest hours consume, 

Amang the friends of early days ! 



TAM GLEN. 
Tune—'' Tam Glen." 
My heart is breaking, dear tittie !^ 
Some counsel unto me come len' ; 

^ .Sister. 
* The well-knov/n Comyns of Scottish h 
tory. 



To anger them a' is a pity. 

But what will 1 do wi' Tam Glen 1 

I'm thinking, wi' sic a braw fallow. 
In pooitith I might mak a fen;'^ 

What care I in riches to wallow. 
If i mauna marry Tam Glen? 

There's Lowrie the Laird o' Drumeller, 
" Guid di'.y to you brute !" he comes 
ben, 
He brags and blaws o' his siller, 

But when will he dance like Tam 
Glen? 

My n^tinnie-" does constantly deave me, 
And bids me beware o' young men; 

They flatter, she says, to deceive me. 
But wha can thinic sae o' Tam Glenl 

My daddie says, gin I'll forsake him, 
He'll gie me guid hunder marks ten; 

But if it's ordain'd I maun take him. 
Oh, wha will I get but Tam Glen ? 

Yestreen at the valentines' dealing. 
My heart to my mou' gied a sten ;^ 

For thrice I drew ane without failing, 
And thrice it was written — Tam 
Glen ! 

The last Halloween I lay waukin'^ 
^ly droukit*^sark-sleeve, as ye ken;* 

His likeness came up the house staukin', 
And the very gray breeks o' Tam 
Glen ! 

Como counsel, dear tittie ! dont tarry — 
I'll gie ye my bonny black hen, 

Gif ye will advise me to marry 
The lad I lo'e dearly — Tam Glen. 



THE TAILOR. 

Tune — " The tailor fell through the b3d, 
thimbles and a'." 

The tailor fell through the bed, thim- 
bles and a'; [bles and a'; 
The tailor fell through the bed, tliim- 
The blankets were thin, and the sheets 
. they were sma', [bles and a'. 
The tailor fell through the bed, thim- 



2 51 lift, 3 Mother. * Bound. 

•'• V.'.uching. 6 Wet. 

'■'■'■ For an explan?.tion of this old usage, see, 
under the head " Poems," Note t, page 



BURNS' WORKS. 



The sleepy bit lassie, she dreaded nae 
ill; [ill; 

The sleepy bit lassie, she dreaded nae 

The weather was cauld, and the lassie 
lay still, [nae ill. 

She thought tliat a tailor could do her 

Gie me the groat again, canny young 
man; [man; 

Gie me the groat again, canny young 

The day it is short, and the night it is 
lang, 

The dearest siller that ever I wan ! 

There's somebody weary w^i' lying her 
lane; [lane; 

There's somebody weary wi' lying her 

There's some that are dowie,' I trow 
wad be fain- [again. 

To see the bit tailor come skippin' 



YE IIAE LIEN WRANG LASSIE. 

CHORUS. 

Ye hae lien a' wrang, lassie, 

Y^e've lien a' wrang; 
Ye've lien in an unco^ bed, 
And wi' a fremit'^ man. 
Y'"our rosy cheeks are turn'd sae wan. 
Ye're greener than the grass, lassie; 
Your coatie's shorter by a span, 
Y^et ne'er an inch the less, lassie. 

O lassie, ye hae play'd the fool, 
And we will feel the scorn, lassie ; 

For aye the brose ye sup at e'en. 
Ye bock^ them ere the morn, lassie. 

Oh, ance ye danced upon the knowes,"* 
And through the wood ye sang, 
lassie; 

But in the berrying o' a bee bylie, 
I fear ye've got a stang, lassie. 



THERE'S A YOUTH IN THIS CITY. 

Tune — "■ Neil Gow's Lament." 

The first half stanza of this song is old : the 
rest by Burns. 

There's a youth in this city. 
It were a great pity [awa'; 

That he frae our lasses should wander 

» Melancholy, a Glad. 
* Strangle. 2 Stranger, s Vomit. •'Mills. 



For he's bonny an' braw, 

Weel favouv'd witha', [a*. 

And his hair has a natural buckle and 

His coat is ilie hue 

Of his bonnot sae blue; [snaw: 
His feckct* is white as the new-driven 

His hose they are blae, 

And his shoon like the slae, [us 'a. 
And his clear siller buckles they dazzle 

For beauty and fortune 
The laddie's been courtin'; 

Weel-featured, weel-tocher'd, weel- 
mountccl, and braw; 
But chiefly the siller, 
That gars him gang till her. 

The penny's the jeAvel that beautifies 'a. 
There's Meg wi' the mailen,f 
That fain wad a liaen him ; 

Ajid Susie, whose daddy was laird o' 
the ha'; 
There's lang-tocher'd Nancy 
Maist fetters his fancy — 

But the laddie's dear sel he lo'es dear- 
est of a'. 



OUR THRISSLES FLOURISHED 
FRESH AND FAIR. 

Tune — " Awa', Whigs, awa'." 

The second and fourth stanzas only of this 
song are from the pen of the poet: the 
others belong to an old Jacobite ditty. 

Our thrissles fiourish'd fresh and fair. 
And bonny bloom'd our roses; 

But Whigs cam like a frost in June, 
And wither'd a' our posies. 

Awa', Whigs, awa'! 

Awa', W'higs, awa'! 
Y'e're but a pack o' traitor louns, 

Y'^e'll do nae guid at a'. 

Our ancient crown's f a'n in the dust — 
Deil blin' them wi' tlie«stoure o't; 

And write their names in his black 
beuk 
Wha gie the W^higs the power o't; 

Our sad decay in Church and State 

Surpasses my descriving; 
The Whigs cam o'er us for a curse. 

And we hae done wi' thriving. 



* An under waistcoat with sleeves, 
t A wcl!-2toc!:cd farm. 



t^ONCrS. 



3S? 



Grim Vengeance lang has ta'en a nap, 
But we may see him wauken ; 

Glide help the day when royal heads 
Are hunted like a maukin!^ 



COME REDE ME, DAME. 
Come rede^ me, dame, come tell me, 
dame, 
And nane can tell mair truly. 
What colour maun the man be of 
To love a woman duly. 

The carline- flew baith up and down. 
And leugh and answer'd ready, 

I learn'd a sang in Annandale, 
A dark man for my lady. 

But for a country quean like thee, 
Young lass, I tell thee fairly. 

That wi' the white I've made a shift, 
And brown will do fu' rarely. 

There's mickle love in raven locks, 
The flaxen ne'er grows youden,^ 

There's kiss and hause'* me in the 
brown, 
And glory in the gowden. 

THE CAPTAIN'S LADY. 

Tune— "Oh, mount and go." 
CHORUS. 

Oh, mount and go. 

Mount and make you ready; 
Oh, mount and go, 

And be the captain's lady. 

When the drums do beat. 
And the cannons rattle. 
Thou slialt sit in state. 
And see thy love in battle. 

When the vanquish'd foe 
Sues for peace and quiet 

To the shades we'll go. 
And in love enjoy it. 

OH MERRY HAE I BEEN TEETH- 
IN' A HECKLE. 

Tune—" Lord Breadalbane's March." 
Oh, merry hae I been teethin' a heckle, 
And merry hae I been shapin' a 
spoon ; 

1 Hare. 
^ Counsel. 2 Old woman. 3 Gray, 
or embrace. 



And merry hae I been cloutin'^ a ket- 
tle. 
And kissin' my Katie when a* was 
done. [mer, 

Oh, a' the lang day I ca' at my ham- 
And a'tlie lang day I whistle and sing, 
A' the lang night I cuddle'^ my kim- 
mer,3 [a king. 

And a' the lang night am as happy's 

Bitter in dbol I lickit my winnin's, 

O' marrying Bess, to gie her a slave: 

Blest be the hour she cool'd in her 

linens, [her grave! 

And blithe be the bird that sings on 
Come to my arms, my Katie, my Katie, 

And come to my arms and kiss me 
again! 
Drunken or sober, here's to thee, Katiel 

And blest be the day I did it again. 



Hug 



EPPIE ADAIR. 

Tune—" My Eppie." 

And oh ! my Eppie, 
My jewel, my Eppie! 
Wha wadna be happy 

Wi' Eppie Adair ? 
By love, and by beauty. 
By law, and by duty, 
I swear to be true to 

My Eppie Adair! 

And oh! my Eppie, 
My jewel, my Eppie! 
Wha wadna be happy 

Wi' Eppie Adair? 
A' pleasure exile me. 
Dishonour defile me. 
If e'er I beguile thee. 

My Eppie Adair! 



YOUNG JOCKEY. 

Tune—" Young Jockey.* 
Young Jockey was the blithest lad 

In a' our town or here awa', 
Fu' blithe he whistled at the gaud,* 

Fu' lightly danced he in the ha'. 
He roosed'^ my een, sae bonny blue, 

He roosed my waist sae genty sma'. 



Patching up. 2 Fondle. ^ Dearie. 
1 Fioush. 2 Praised. 



228 



ETTRNS' WORKS. 



And aye my heart came to my mou' 
When ne'er a body heard or saw. 

My Jockey toils upon the plain, 

Through wind and weet, through 
frost and snaw; 
And o'er the lea I leuk fu' fain 

When Jockey's owsen hameward ca'. 
And aye the night comes round again, 

Wlien in his anns he take;s me a'; 
And aye lie vows he'll be my ain. 

As lang's he has a breath *to draw. 



WEE WILLIE GRAY. 

Wee Willie Gray, and his leather 

wallet; [and jacket: 

Peel a willow-wand to be him boots 
The rose upon the brier will be him 

trouse and doublet, 
The rose upon the brier will be him 

trouse and doublet. [wallet, 

Wee Willie Gray, and his leather 
Twice a lily fiower will be him sark 

and cravat, [boimet. 

Feathers of a flee wad feather up his 
Feathers of a flee wad feather up his 

bonnet. 



JAMIE, COME TRY ME. 

Tune— " Jamie, come try me." 
CHORUS. 

Jamie, come try me, 

Jamie, come try me, 

Ix thou wad win my love, 

Jamie, come try me. 

if thou should ask my love, 

Could I deny thee ? 
If thou would win my love, 

Jamie, come try me. 

If thou should kiss me, love, 
Wha could espy theeV 

If thou wad be my love, 
Jamie, come try me. 



THE BATTLE OF KILLIE 
CRANKIE. 

Tune—" Killiecrankie." 

The chorus of this song-, which celebrates the 
battle where Viscount Dundee fell in the 
moment of victory, is old ; the rest is from 
the pen of Burns. 



WiTAiiE hae ye been sae braw, lad ? 

Whare hae ye been sae brankie,' 01 
Oh, whare hae ye been sae braw, lad^ 

Cam ye by Killiecrankie, O ? 
An' ye hae been whare I hae been. 

Ye wadna been sae cantie,'^ O; 
An' ye ha' seen what I hae seen. 

On the braes of Killiecrankie, O. 

I fought at land, I foiight at sea; 

At hame I fought my auntie, O; 
Bitt I met the devil and Dundee, 

On the braes o' Killiecrankie, O. 
The bauld Pitcur fell in a fur,^ 

And Clavers got a clankie, O; 
Or I had fed on Athole gled,"* 

On the braes o' Killiecrankie, O. 



GUIDWIFB, COUNT THE LAWIN. 

Tune—" Guidwife,count the lawin." 

Gane is the day, and mirk's the night, 
But we'll ne'er stray for fau't^ o' light. 
For ale and brandy's stars and moon. 
And blude-red wine's thy rising sun. 

Then, guidwife, count the la win, 

The lawin, the lawin; 
Then, guidwife, count the lawin. 

And bring a coggie- mair-. 

There's wealth and ease for gentlemen, 
And simple folk maun fecht and fen': 
But here we're a' in ae accord, 
For ilka man that's drunk's a lord. 

]My coggie is a haly pool, 

That heals the wounds o' care and dool;^ 

And pleasure is a wanton trout. 

An' ye drink but deep ye'llfind him ont 



WHISTLE O'ER THE LAVE O'T. 

Tune—" Whistle o'er the lave o't." 

FiijST when Maggy was my care. 
Heaven, I thought, was in her air; 
Now we're married — spier' nae mair— 

Whistle o'er the lave o't. — 
Meg was meek, and Meg was mild. 
Bonny Meg was nature's child; 
Wiser men than me's beguiled — 

Whistle o'er the lave o't. 



1 Gaudy. ^ Merry. ^ Furrow. "* Kite. 

1 Want. " Bumper. ^ Griei. 

lAak. 



SONGS. 



How we live, my Meg and me, 
How we love, and how we 'gree, 
I care na by how few may see — 

Whistle o'er the lave o't. 
Wlia I wish were maggots' meat, 
Dish'd up in her winding sheet, 
I could write — but Meg maun see'l 

Whistle o'er the lave o't. 



OH, CAN YE LABOUR LEA. 

Oh, can ye labour loa, young man, 

And can ye labour lea; 
Gae back the gate ye cam again, 

Ye'se never scorn me. 

I fee'd a man at Martinmas, 

Wi' airl-pennies three; 
And a' the faut I fan' wi' him. 

He couldna labour lea. 

The stibble-rig is easy plough'd. 

The fallow land is free; 
But wha wad keep the handless coof, 

That couldna labour lea'? 



WOMEN'S MINDS. 

Tune—" For a' that." 
Though women's minds, like winter 
winds, 
May shift and turn and a' that. 
The noblest breast adores them maist, 
A couseqaence I draw that. 

For a' that, and a' that. 

And twice as muckle's a' that. 

The bonny lass that I lo'e best 
She'll be my ain for a' that. 

Great love I bear to all the fair. 
Their humble slave, and a' that; 

But lordly will, I hold it still, 
A mortal sin to thraw that. 

But there is ane aboon the lave,' 
Has wit, and sense, and a' that; 

A bonny lass, I like her best, 
And wha a crime dare ca' that ? 



IT IS NA, JEAN, THY BONNY 
FACE. 

Tune—" The Maid's Complaint." 
It is na, Jean, thy bonny face. 
Nor shape, that I admire, 

iRest. 



Although thy beauty and thy grace 

Might weel awake desire. 
Something, in ilka part o' thee. 

To praise, to love, I find; 
But, dear as is thy form to me. 

Still dearer is thy mind. 

Nae mair ungenerous wish I hae, 

No stronger in my breast, / 

Than if I canna mak thee sae. 

At least to see thee blest. 
Content am I, if Heaven shall give 

But happiness to thee: 
And, as wi' thee I'd wish to live. 

For thee I'd bear to die. 



MY LOVE SHE'S BUT A LASSIE 
YET. 

Tune — " Lady Badinscoth's Reel." 

My love she's but a lassie yet, 

My love she's but a lassie yet; 
We'll let her siand a year or twa. 

She'll no be half sae saucy yet. 
I rue the day I sought her, 0, 

I rue the day I sought her. O ; 
Wha gets her needna say she's woo'd, 

But he may say he's bought her, 0! 

Come, draw a drap o' the best o't yet; 

Come draw a drap o' the best o't yet; 
Gae seek for pleasure where ye will. 

But here I never miss'd it yet. 
We're a' dry wi' drinking o't; 

We're a' dry wi' drinking o't; 
The minister kiss'd the fiddler's wife, 

And couldna preach for thinkin' o't. 



CA' THE EWES. 

Tune—" Ca' the Ewes to the Knowes." 

The fourth and fifth stanzas of this song-, 
which was written for the Muse2i7n, are old, 
with a few touches of improvement b> 
Burns. He afterwards wrote a much better 
version for Thomson's collection, which will 
be found at p. 263. 

As I gaed down the water-side, 
There I met my shepherd lad. 
He row'd^ me sweetly in his plaid, 
And ca'd me his dearie. 



Wrapt. 



230 



.BURNS' WORKS. 



Ca' the ewes to the knowes, 
Ca' them whare the heather grows, 
Ca' them whare the burnie rowes. 
My bonny dearie ! 

Will ye gang down the water-side, 
And see the waves sae sweetly glide ? 
Beneath the hazels spreading wide 
The moon it shines I'u' clearly. 

I was bred up at nae sic school, 
My shepherd lad, to play the fool, 
And a' the day to sit in dool,^ 
And naebody to see me. 

Ye sail get gowns and ribbons meet, 
Cauf-leather shoon upon your feet, 
And in my amis ye'se lie and sleep. 
And ye sail be my dearie. 

If ye^ll but stand to what ye'vc said, 
I'se gang wi' you, my shepherd lad, 
And ye may rowe me in yoar plaid, 
And I sail be your dearie. 

VVhile waters wimple'^ to the sea: 
While day blinks in the liff^ sae hie; 
Till clay-cauld death sail blin' my ee. 
Ye sail be my dearie. 



SIIOIER'S A PLEASAXT TIME. 

Tune—'' Aye Waukin, O." 

This is an old song, on which the poet appears 
to have made only a few alterations. 

Simmer's a pleasant time. 

Flowers of every colour; 
The water rins o'er the lieugh,' 

And I long for my true lover. 

A waukin, O, 

Waukin still and wearie: 
Sleep I can get nane 

For thinking on my dearie. 

When I sleep [ dream, 

Wlien I wauk I'm eerie ;^ 
Sleep I can get nane 

For thinking on my dearie. 

Lanely night comes on, 

A' the lave^ are sleepin'; 
I think on my bonny lad. 

And I bleer my een with greetin'.'' 

2 Grief. ' Wander. * Heavens. 



^ Grief. 3 Wander. * H( 
Steep. 2 Timorous. ^ Rest. 



THERE'LL NEVER BE P3ACB 
TILL JAMIE COMES HAME. 

Tune—" There are few guid fellows whca 
Willie's awa'." 

" When political combustion," says the poet, 
in a letter to Thomson, enclosing this .song-, 
which had evidently been composed while 
in a Jacobitical mood, "ceases to be the 
object of princes and patriots, it then, you 
know, becomes the lawful prey of historians 
and poets." 

By yon castle wa', at the close of the 

day, [was gray: 

I heard a man sing, though his head it 
And as he was singing, the tears fast 

down came, [comes hame. 

There'll never be peace till Jamie 
The Church is in ruins, the State is in 

jars; [ous wars; 

Delusions, oppressions, and murder- 
We darena weel say't, though we ken 

wha's to blame — [hame ! 

There'll never be peace till Jamie comes 

My seven braw sons for Jamie drew 

sword, [beds in the yerd.^ 

And now I greet^ round tlieir green 
It brak the sweet heart of my faithfa* 

auld dame — [hame. 

There'll never be peace till Jamie comes 
Now life is a burthen that bov/s me 

down, [crown; 

Since I tint' mv bairns, and he tint his 
Btit till my last moments my words are 

the same — ^ [liame. 

There'll never be peace till Jamie corsisa 



LOVELY DAVIES. 

Tune— " Miss Muir." 

The heroine of this song was Miss Deborah 
Davies, a beautiful jniung Englishwoman, 
connected by ties of bluod with the family 
of Captain Riddel of Glenriddel, at whose 
house the poet probably first met her. Her 
beauty and accomplishments appear to have 
made a deep impression upon the poet, for 
he has celebrated them m a number of effu- 
sions in both prose and verse. In a letter to 
her enclosing this song, he says, in a strain 
of enthusiastic gallantry : — " When my 
theme is youth and beauty— a young lady 
whose personal charms, wit, and sentiment, 
are equally striking and unaffected— by 
Heavens ! though I had lived threescore 
years a married man, and threescore 
years before I was a married man, my 

1 Weep. 2 Churchyard. 3 Lost. 



SONGS. 



23t 



imagination would hallow the very idea; 
and i am truly sorry that the enclosed 
stanzas have done such poor justice to such 
a subject." 

Oh, how shall I unskilfu' try 

The poet's occupation, 
The tunefu' powers, m happy hours, 

That whisper inspiration ? 
Even they maun dare an effort mair 

Than aught they ever gave us, 
Or they rehearse, in equal verse, 

The channs o' lovely Davies. 

Each eye it cheers, when she appears, 

Like Pha3bas in the morning, [er 
When past the shower and every flow- 

Tlie garden is adorning. [shore, 

As the wretch looks o'er Siberia's 

When winter-bound the wave is; 
Sae droops our heart when we maun 
part 

Frae charming, lovely Davies. 

Her smile's a gift, frae 'boon the lift, 

That maks us mair than princes; 
A sceptred hand, a king's command. 

Is in her darting glances: [charms, 
The man in arms, 'gainst female 

Even he her willing slave is; 
He hugs his chain, and owns the reign 

Of conquering, lovely Davies. 

My Muse, to dream of such a theme, 

Her feeble powers surrender; 
The eagle's gaze alone surveys 

The sun's meridian splendour: 
I wad in vain essay the strain, 

The deed too daring brave is; 
I'll drap the lyre, and mute admire 

The charms o' lovely Davies. 



THE BONNY WEE THING. 

Tune — " Bonny wee Thing." 

This is another, though briefer and more sen- 
timental, song in celebration of the lady 
mentioned above— ^ The charming, lovely 
Davies." 

Bonny wee thing, cannie wee thing. 
Lovely wee thing, wert thou mine, 

I wad wear thee in my bosom, 
Lest my jewel I should tine.^ 

^ Lose. 



Wishfully 1 look and languish 
In that bonny face o' thine; 

And my heart it stounds'-' wi' angnish^ 
Lest my wee thing be na mine. 

Wit, and grace, and love, and bea,iity, 

In ae constellation shine; 
To adore thee is my duty, 

Goddess o' this soul o' mine ! 
Bonny wee thing, cannie wee thingj 

Lovely v.'ee thing, wert thou miiie^ 
I wad wear thee in my bosom , 

Lest my jewel I should tine I 



WAR SONG. 

Air—" Oran an Doig ;" or, " The Song of 
Death." 

" I have just finished," says the poet, in a 
letter to Mrs. Dunlop. enclosing this noble 
lyric, '■ the following song, which, to d. lady, 
the descendant of Wallace, and herself the 
mother of several soldiers, needs neither 
preface nor apology." The subject, the 
poet tells us, was suggested to him by an 
Isle-of-Skye tune entitled, " Oran an 
Doig ;" or, " The Song of Death," which he 
found in a collection of Highland airs, and 
to the measure of which he adapted his 
stanzas. " 

Scene— K field of battle— Time of the day, 
Evening — The wounded and dying of the 
victorious army are supposed to join in the 
following song :— 

Farewell, thou fair day, thou green 

earth, and ye skies, 

Novy gay with the broad setting sun ! 

Farewell loves and friendships, ye dear 

tender ties ! % 

Our race of existence is run ! 

Thou grim King of Terrors, thou life's 

gloomy foe ! 

Go, frighten the coward and slave ! 

Go teach them to tremble, fell tyrant ! 

but know. 

No terrors hast thou to the brave I 

Thou strOv'st the dull peasant, — ^he 

sinks in the dark, [name; — 

Nor saves e'en the wreck of a 

Thou strik'st the young hero — a glori* 

ous mark ! 

He falls in the blaze of his fame ! 



3 Aches. 



z?.: 



BURNS' WORKS. 



In the fields of proud honour — our 
swords in our hands 
Our king and our country to save — 
While victory shines on life's last ebb- 
ing sands — [brave ! 
Oh ! who would not die with the 



AE FOND KISS. 

Tune—" Rory Dall's Port." 

This exquisitely beautiful song sprang from 
the depth of the poet's passion for Clarinda ; 
and is one of the most vehement and im- 
pressive outbursts of intense feeling ever 
written. 

Ae fond kiss, and then we sever; 
Ae fareweel, and then, forever! 
Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge 
thee, [thee. 

"Warring sighs and groans I'll wage 

Who shall say that Fortune grieves 

him, 
While the star of hope she leaves him? 
Me, nae cheerfu' twinkle lights me; 
Dark despair around benights me. 

I'll ne'er blame my partial fancy, 
Naething could resist my Nancy; 
But to see her was to love her; 
Love but her, and love forever. 

Had we never loved sae kindly. 
Had we never loved sae blindly, 
Never met — or never parted, 
We had ne'er been broken-hearted. 

♦Fare-thee-weel, thou first and fairest! 
Fare-thee-weel, thou best and dearest! 
Thine be ilka joy and treasure. 
Peace, Enjoyment, Love, and Pleasure! 

Ae fond kiss, and then we sever; 
Ae fareweel, alas! forever! 
Deep in heart- wrung tears I'll pledge 
thee, [thee ! 

Warring sighs and groans I'll wage 



GLOOMY DECEMBER. 

Tune—" Wandering Willie." 

The last interview of the poet with Clarinda 
took place in Edinburgh on the 6th of De- 
cember, 17^1, and appears to have beer* 



deeply affecting on both side:;, in reinem 
branceof this meeting, and while slill undef 
the influence of the feelings evoked by it, 
the poet composed these beautiful lines :.— 

Ance mair I hail thee, thou gloomy 
December! [care; 

Ance mair I hail the, wi' sorrow and 
Sad was the parting thou makes me re- 
member, [mair. 
Parting wi' Nancy, oh ! ne'er to meet 

Fond lovers' parting is sweet painful 
pleasure, [ing hour; 

Hope beaming mild on the soft part- 
But tlie dire feeling, oh, farewell for- 
ever! [pure. 
Is anguish unmingled, and agony 

Wild as the winter now tearing the 

forest, [flown; 

Till the last leaf o' the summer is 

Such is the tempest has sljaken my 

bosom, [is gone! 

Since my last hope and last comfort 

Still as I hail thee, thou gloomy Decem- 
ber, [care ; 
Still shall I hail thee wi' sorrow and 
For sad was the parting thou makes me 
remember, [mair. 
Parting wi' Nancy., oh! ne'er to meet 



BEHOLD THE HOUR. 

Tune—" Oran Gaoil." 

A month after the interview mentioned in the 
introduction to the preceding song— on the 
25th of January, 1792 — Clarinda, in antici- 
pa-tion of her immediate departure lor Ja- 
maica to join her husband, wrote to the poet 
bidding him farewell. " Seek God's favour," 
she says ; " keep His commandments — be 
solicitous to prepare for a happy eternity. 
There, I trust, we will meet in never-ending 
bliss !" She sailed a month afterwards ; and 
the poet poured his feelings on the occasion 
into the following fine song :— 

Behold the hour, the boat arrive, 
Thou goest, thou darling of my 
heart! 
Sever'd from thee can I survive ? 
But Fate has will'd, and we must 
part. 

I'll often greet this surging sv%-ell, 
Yon distant isle will often hail: 



SONGS. 



233 



" E'en here I took tlie last farewell; 
There latest mark'd her vanish'd 
sail!"* 

Along the solitary shore, 

While flittiug- sea-fowl round me cry. 
Across the rolling dashing roar, 

I'll westward turn my wistful eye. 

Happy, thou Indian grove, I'll say, 
^V'here now my 2s aucy's path may be ! 

While through thy sweets she loves to 
stray, 
Oh, tell me, does she muse ca me ? 



THE MIRK NIGHT O' DECEMBER. 

Tune—" O May, thy morn." 

The foUov/ing- song, the production of a 
lighter mood, is also said to have been writ- 
ten in commemoration of the final meeting 
with Clarinda :— 

O M.VY, thy morn was ne'er sae sweet, 

Astlie mirk night o' December; 
For sparkling was the rosy wine. 

And private was the chamber: 
And dear was she I dareua name. 

But 1 will aye remember. 
And dear was she I darena name, 

But I^vill aye remember. 

And here's to them that, like oursel. 

Can push about the jorum; 
And here's to them that wish us weel. 

May a' that's guid watch o'er them ! 
And here's to them we darena tell. 

The dearest o' the quorum. 
And here's to them we darena tell. 

The dearest o' the quorum ! 



MY NANNIE'S AW A'. 

Tune — ''There'll never be peace." 

Seme months after the departure of Clarinda, 
when time had mellowed the poet's passion, 

* The above two stanzas of this song are 
j^iven by Ciiambers as follows : — 

Behold the hour, the boat arrive ! 

My dearest Xancy, oh, fareweel ! 
Sever'd frae thee, can I survive, 

Frae thee v/hom I hae loved sae weel ? 

Endless and deep shall be my grief ; 

Nae ray o' comfort shall I see ; 
But this most precious, dear belief ! 

That thou wilt still remember me. 



and absence calmed the tumult of his feel- 
ings, he wrote the following touching pas- 
toral :— 

Now in her green mantle blithe nature 
arrays, [o'er the braes. 

And listens the lambkins that bleat 

While birds warble welcome in ilka 
green shaw;i [Nannie's awa' ! 

But to me it's delightless — my 

The snav\'-drap and primrose our wood- 
lands adorn, [morn; 

And violets bathe in the weet- o' the 

They pain my sad bosom, sae sweetly 
they blaw, [Nannie's awa' ! 

They mind me o' Nannie — and 

Thou laverock that springs? frae the 

dews of the lawn, 
The shepherd to warn o' tlie gray 

breaking dawn, [night fa'. 

And thou mellow mavis that hails the 
Give over for pity — my Naimie's awa'! 

Come, Autumn sae pensive, in yellow 
and gray, [decay: 

And soothe me witli tidings o' Nature's 

The dark dreary winter, and wild driv- 
ing snaw, [awa' ! 

Alane can delimit me — now Nannie's 



WANDERING WILLIE. 

In composing this song, Burns is thought to 
have thrown himself sympathetically into 
the circumstances of his mistrtss^Clarinda 
— and to have given expression to the feel- 
ings with which he supposed her to be ani- 
mated in seeking, after a separaii(jn of 
many j^ears, a reunion with her wayward, 
wandering husband. The idea of this song 
appears to have been taken from an old 
one, of which the two following verses have 
been preserved ; — 

" Here awa', there awa', here awa', Willie, 
Here awa', there awa', here awa' hame ; 
Long have I sought thee, dear have I bought 
thee, 
Now I hae gotten my Willie again. 

" Through the lang muir I have follow'd my 
Willie. 
Through the lang muir I have follow'd 
him hame ; 
Whatever betide us, nought shall divide us, 
Love now rewards all my sorrow and 
pain." 



1 Wood. 



3 Dew. 



23 i 



BURNS' WORKS. 



Here awa', there awa', wandering 

Willie, |liame; 

Here awa', there awa', liaud awa' 

Come to my bosom, my ain only dearie, 

Tell me thou bring'st me my Willie 

the same. 

Winter winds blew loud and cauld at 

our parting, [in my ee; 

Fears for my Willie brought tears 

Welcome now simmer, and welcome 

my Willie — [to me. 

The simmer to nature, my Willie 

Rest, ye wild storms, in the caA^e of 

your slumbers, [alarms ! 

How your dread howling a lover 

Wauken, ye breezes ! row gently, ye 

billows ! [to my arms ! 

And waft my dear laddie ance mair 

But oh, if he's faithless, and minds na 

his Nannie, [roaring main ! 

Flow still between us thou wide 

Maj' I never see it, may I never trow it, 

But, dying, believe that my Willie's 

my ain. 



THE DEIL'S AWA' WI' THE 
EXCISEMAN. 

TuxE— "The deil cam fiddling through the 
town." 

The deil cam fiddling through the 
town, 

And danced avra' wi' the Exciseman, 
And ilka wife cries — " Auld Mahoun, 

I wish you luck o' the prize, man !" 

The dell's awa', tire deil's awa', 
The deil's awa' wi' the Exciseman ; 

He's danced awa', he's danced awa', 
He's danced awa' wi' the Excise- 
man ! 

We'll male our maut, we'll brew our 

drink, [man; 

We'll dance and sing, and rejoice, 

And mony braw thanks to the meikle 

black deil 

That danced awa' wi' the Exciseman. 

The deil's awa', the deil's awa', 
The deil's awa' wi' the Exciseman ; 



He's danced awa', he'sdanced awa'. 
He's danced awa' wi' the Excise • 
man ! 

There's threesome reels, there's four- 
some reels, [man; 
There's hornpipes and strathspeys. 
But the ae best dance e'er cam to the 
land, [man. 
Was — the deil's awa' wi' the Exciye- 

The deil's awa', the deil's awa', 
The deil's awa' wi' the Exciseman; 

He's danced awa', he's danced awa'. 
He's danced awa' wi' the Excise- 
in n 11 I 



BONNY LESLEY. 

The poet in a letter to Mrs. Dunlop, gives the 
following account of the origin of this song: 
— "Aprcrpos! — do you know that I am 
almost in love with an acquaintance of 
yours? Know, then," said he, "that the 
heart-struck awe, the distant humble 
approach, the delight we should have in 
gazing upon and listening to a messenger of 
Heaven, appearing in all the unspotted pur- 
ity of his celestial home, among the coarse, 
polluted, far inferior sons of men, to deliver 
to ilicm tidings that should make their 
hearts swim in jVn\ and their imaginations 
soar in transport,— such, so delighting and 
and so pure, were the emotions of my soul 
on meeting the other day with Miss Lesley 
Baillie, your neighbour at Maytield. Mr. 
Baillie, with his two daughters, accompanied 
by Mr. H. of G.. passing through Dnmfrics 
a few days ago, on their way to England, 
did me the honour of calling on me, on 
Avhich I took my horse, (though God knows 
I could ill spare the time,) and accompanied 
them fourteen or fifteen miles, and dined 
and spent the day with them. 'Twas about 
nine, I think, when I left them ; and ridmg 
home, I com.posed the following ballad. 
You must know that there is an eld one 
beginning with — 

' My bonny Lizzie Baillie. 

I'll rowe thee in my plaidie, &c. 

So I parodied it as follows." Miss Baillie 
ultimately became Mrs. Gumming of Logic, 
and died in Edinburg in 1843. 

On, saw ye bonny Lesley 
As she gaed o'er the Border ? 

She's gane like Alexander, 
To spread her conquests farther. 

To see her is to love her, 

And love but her forever; 
For Nature made her what she is 

And never made anither ! 



SONGS:- 



233 



Thou art a queen, fair Lesley, 
Thy subjects we, before thee; 

Tliou art divine, fair Lesley, 
The hearts o' men adore thee. 

The deil he couldna skaitli' thee. 
Nor aught that wad behmg- thee; 

H'.i'd look into thy bonny face, 
And say, ' ' I cauna wrang thee. " 

The powers aboon will tenf^ thee; 

Misfortune sha' na steer thee: 
Thou'rt like themselves sae lovely, 

That ill they'll ne'er let near thee. 

Return again, fair Lesley, 

Return to Caledouie ! 
That we may brag we liae a lass 

There's nane again sae bouny. 



CRAIGIE-BURN WOOD. 

The poet composed the following- song to aid 
the eloquence of a Mr. Gillespie, a friend of 
his, who was pajnng his addresses to a Miss 
Lorimer, a young lady who resided at a 
beautiful place on the banks of the Moffat, 
called Craigie-burn Wood. 

Sweet closes the evening on Cragie- 

burn Wood, 

And blithely awaukens the morrow; 

But the pride of the spring in the 

Craigie-burn Wood 

Can yield to me nothing but sorrow. 

Beyond thee, dearie, beyond thee, 
dearie, 
And oh ! to be lying beyond thee ; 
Oh, sweetly, soundly, weel may he 
sleep 
That's laid in the bed beyond 
thee! 

I see the spreading leaves and flowers, 
I hear the wild birds singing; 

But pleasure they hae nane for me, 
While care my heart is wringing. 

I canna tell, I maunna tell, 

I darena for your anger; 
But secret love will break my heart, 

If I conceal it langer. 



iHarm. 



Guard. 



I see thee grac^fu', straight, and tall; 

I see thee sweet and bonny; 
But oh, what will my torments be, 

If thou refuse thy Johnnie 1 

To see thee in anither's arms. 
In love to lie and languish, 

'Twad be my dead,^ that will be seen, 
My heart wad burst wi' anguish. 

But, Jeanie, say thou wilt be mine, 
Say thou lo'es nane before me; 

And a' my days o' life to come 
I'll gratefully adore thee. 



• SECOND VERSION. 

Sweet fa's the eve on Craigie-burn, 

And blithe awakes the morrow; 
But a' the pride o' spring's return 
Can yield me nought but sorrow. 

I see the flowers and spreading trees, 
I hear the wild birds singing; 

But v.'liat a weary wight can please, 
And care his bosom wringing ? 

Fain, fain would I my griefs impart. 
Yet darena for your anger; 

But secret love will break my heart. 
If I conceal it langer. 

If thou refuse to pity me. 

If thou shalt love anither. 
When yon green leaves fade frae the 
tree. 

Around my grave they'll wither. 



FRiVE THE FRIENDS AND LAND 
I LOVE. 

Air — " Carron Side." 

In his notes to the Mziseum^ the poet says of 
this song : — " I added the last four lines by 
way of giving a turn to the theme of the 
poem— such as it is.'' The entire song, 
however, was in his own handwriting, and 
is generally thought to be his own composi- 
tion, as the other twelve lines have not been 
found in any collection. 

Frae the friends and laud I love, 
Driven by Fortune's felly* spite, 



1 Death. 



2 Relentless. 



«36 



BURNS' WORKS. 



Frae my best-beloved I rove, 
Never mair to taste delight; 

Never mair maun hope to find 
Ease frae toil, relief frae care: 

When remembrance wracks the mind, 
Pleasures but unveil despair. 

Brightest climes shall mirk appear, 

Desert ilka blooming shore, 
Till the Fates, nae mair severe. 

Friendship, Love, and Peace restore; 
Till Revenge, \vi' laurell'd head, 

Bring our banish'd name again; 
And ilka loyal bonny lad 

Cross the seas and win his ain. 



MY TOCHER'S THE JEWEL 

Tune -" My Tocher's the Jewel." 

Oh meikle thinks my luve o' my 

beauty, [kin, 

And meikle thinks my luve o' my 

But little thinks my luve I ken brawlie' 

My tocher's- the jewel has charms 

for him. [tree; 

It's a' for the apple he'll nourish the 

It's a' for the hiney he'll cherish the 

bee; [siller 

My laddie's sae meikle in luve wi' the 

He canna hae luve to spare for me. 

Your proffer o' hive's an airl-penny,^ 

My tocher's the bargain ye wad buy; 
But an ye be crafty I am cunuin', [try. 

Sae ye wi' anither your fortune maun 

Ye're like to the timmer-* o' yon rotten 

wood, [tree, 

Ye're like to the bark o' yon rotten 
Ye'll slip frae me like a knotless thread. 

And ye'll crack^ your credit wi' mae^ 
nor me. 



WHAT CAN A YOUNG LASSIE DO ? 

Tune — " What can a young- lassie do wi' an 
auld man?^' 

What can a young lassie, what shall 

a young lassie, [auld man ? 

What can a young lassie do wi' an 



Bad luck on the penny that tempted 
my minnie^ [and inn!' 

To sell her poor Jenny for siller 
Bad luck on the penny, &;c, 

He's always compleenin' frae morn in' 

to e'enin', [day lang; 

He hoasts-' and he hirples'^ the" weary 

He's doyl'f* and he's dozen-' his bluid it 

is frozen, • [man ! 

Oh, dreary's the night wi' a crazy auld 

He's doyl't and he's dozen, &c. 

He hums and he hankers, he frets and 

he cankers, [I can; 

I never can please him do a' that 

' He's peevish and jealous of a' the 

young fellows: [auld man ! 

Oh, dooF on the day I met wi' an 

He's peevish and jealous, &c. 

My auld Auntie Katie upon me taks 

pity, [plan ! 

I'll do my endeavour to follow her 

I'll cross him, and wrack him, until 1 

heart-break him, 

And then his auld brass will buy 

me a new pan. [&c. 

I'U cross him, and wrack him, 



^ Know well. ^ Dowrv. ^ Money given as 
earnest of # bargain. * Timber. ^Injure. 
* More. 



OH, HOW CAN I BE BLITHE AND 

GLAD? 

Tune—" Owre the hills' and far awa'." 

Oh, how can I be blithe and' glad, 
Or how can I gang brisk and braw. 

When the bonny lad that I lo'e best 
Is o'er the hills and far awa'? 

When the bonny lad that I lo'e best 
Is o'er the hills and far awa'? 

It's no the frosty winter wind, 
It's no the driving drift and snaw; 

But aye the tear comes in my ee. 
To think on him that's far awa'. 

But aye the tear comes in my ee. 
To think on him that's far awa'. 

My father pat me frae his door, 

My friends they hae disown'd me a', 

But I hae ane will tak my part. 
The bonny lad that's far awa'. 



1 Mother. 2 Coughs. 3 Limps. * Crazed. 
6 Benumbed. *" Woe. 



SONGS. 



237 



But 1 liae ane will tak my part, 
The bouny lad that's far awa'. 

A pair o' gloves lie bought for me. 
And silken snoods* he gae me tAva; 

And I will wear them for his sake, — 
The bonny lad that's far awa'. 

And I will wear them for his sake, — 
The bonny lad that's far awa'. 

Oh, v/eary winter soon will pass, 
.Ind spring will deed the birken- 
shaw;^ 

And my young baby will be born, 
And he'll be hame that's far awa'. 

And my young baby will be born, 
^\_nd he'll be hame that's far awa'. 



I DO CONFESS THOU ART SAE 
FAIR. 

Tune—" I do confess thou art sae fair." 

?his song was altered by the poet into Scotch, 
from a poem by Sir Robert Ayton, private 
secretary to Anne, consort of James VI. 
" I think," says Burns, '' that I have im- 
proved the simpHcity of the sentiments by 
giving them a Scots dress." * 



^ Birch-wood. 
* See p. —note. 

* The following are the ol J words : — 

" I do confess thou'rt smooth and fair, 

And I might have gone near to love thee; 

Had I not found the slightest prayer 
That lips could speak had power to move 

But I can let thee now alone, [thee. 

As worthy to be loved by none. 

'^ I do confess thou'rt sweet ; yet find 
Thee such an unthrift of thy sv.-eets, 
Thy favours are but like the wind, 

That kisseth everything it meets ; 
And since thou canst with more tlian one, 
I'hou'rt worthy to be kissed by none. 

■ The morning rose, that untouch'd stands, 
Arm'd with her briers, how sweetly 
smells ! [hands, 

But, pluck'd and strain'd through ruder 

Her sweet no longer with her dwells, 
But scent and beauty both are gone. 
And leaves fall from her, one by one. 

"Such fate, ere long, will thee betide, 
_ When thou hast handled been a while, 
Like sun-liowers to be thrown aside. 

And I shall sigh while some will smile, 
To see thy love for more than one 
Hath brought thee to be loved by none." 



I DO confess tnou art sae fair. 

I wud been owr^, the lugs^ in luve, 
Had I na found the slightest prayer 

That lips could speak thy heart could 
move. 
I do confess thee sweet, but find 

Thou art sae thriftless o' thy sweets, 
Thy favours are the silly wind. 

That kisses ilka thing it meets. 

See yonder rosebud, rich in dew, 

Amang its native briers sae coy; 
How sune it tines- its scent and hue 

When pu'd and worn a common toy! 
Sic fate, ere lang, siiall thee betide, 

Though thou may gayly bloom a 
while; 
Yet sune thou slialt be thrown aside 

Like ony common weed and vile. 



YON WILD MOSSY MOUNTAINS 

Tune — " Yon wild mossy mountains." 

"This song," says the poet, "alludes to a 
part of rny private histor}^ which it is of no 
consequence to the world to know." 

Yon wild mossy mountains sae lofty 

and wide, [the Clyde, 

That nurse in their bosom the youth o' 
Where the grouse lead their coveys 

through the heather to feed, 
And the shepherd tends his flock as he 

pipes on his reed, 
Where the grouse lead their coveys 

through the heather to feed. 
And the shepherd tends his flock as 

he pipes on his reed. 

Not Gowrie's rich valleys, nor Forth's 

sunny shores, [moors; 

To me hae the charms o' yon wild mossy 

For there, by a lanely, sequoster'd 

clear stream, [my dream. 

Resides a sweet lassie, my thought and 

For there, by a lanely, sequester'd 

clear stream, [aiid my dream. 

Resides a sweet lassie, my thought 

Amang thae wild mountains shall still 
be my path, [narrow strath; 

Ilk stream foaming down its ain green 

For there, wi' my lassie, the day-lang 
I rove, [liours o' love. 

Wliile o'er us unheeded, flee the swift 



* Ears, 



''' Loses. 



S38 



BUiiNS' WOEKS. 



For tlierf , wi' my lassie, the day-ltmg 

I rove, ' 
While o'er iis, unlieoded, llee the 

swift hours o' love. 

She is not the fairest, although she is 

fair; 

0' nice edacatiou hut sma' is her share; 

Her parentage humble as humble can 

be; [lo'esme. 

But I lo'e the dear hissie because she 

Her parentage humble as humble 

can be, [she lo'es me. 

But I lo'e the dear lassie, because 

To beauty what man but maun yield 

him a prize, [and sighs ? 

In lier armour of glances, and blushes. 

And when wit and refinement liae pol- 

ish'd her darts, [hearts. 

They dazzle our een as they fly to our 

And when wit and refinement liae 

polisli'd her darts, [our hearts. 

They dazzle our een as they fly to 

But kindness, sweet kindness, in the 
fond sparkling ee, [ii^«; 

Has lustre outshining the diamond to 

And the heart-beating love, as I'm 
clasp'd inlier arms, [charms ! 

Oh, these are my lassie's all-conquering 
And the heart-beating love, as I'm 

clasped in her arms, 
Oh, these are my lassie's all-conquer- 
ing charms ! 



OH FOR ANE-AND-TWENTY, 

TAM! 

Tune—" The Moudiewort." 
And oh for ane-and-twenty, Tam ! 
And hey, sweet ane-and-twenty, 
Tam ! 
I'll learn my kin a rattlin' sang, 
An I saw ane-and-twenty, Tam. 

They snooP me sair, and hand me 

down, 

And gar me look like bluntie,'^ Tam; 

But three shoft years Avill soon wlieel 

roun' — [Tam. 

And then comes ane-and-twenty. 



» Curb. 



" A simpleton. 



A gleib o' lau'"' a claul o gear." 
Was left me by my auntie, Tam; 

At kith or kin 1 needna spier,* 
An I saw ane-and-twenty, Tam. 

The'll hae me wed a wealthy coof.® 
Thougli I mysel hae plenty, Tam; 

But hear'st thou, laddie — there's my 
loof^— 
I'm thine at ane-and-twenty, Tam. 



BESS AND HER SPINNING- 
WHEEL. 

Tune—" The sweet lass that lo'es me." 
On, leeze me on my spinning-wheel. 
And leeze me on my rock and reel; 
Frae tap to tae that deeds me bien,^ 
And haps- me fiel-^ and warm at e'en ! 
I'll set me downand sing and spin. 
While laigli descends i\m simmer sun. 
Blest wi' content, and milk and meal— 
Oh, leeze me on my spinning-wheel ! 

On ilka hand the burnies trot,* 
x\nd meet below my theekit cot; 
The scented birk and hawthorn white, 
Across the pool their arms unite. 
Alike to screen the birdies' nest, 
And little fishes' caller^ rest; 
The sun blinks kindly in the beil,^ 
Where blithe I turn m.y spinning- 
wheel. 

On lofty aiks the cushats'' wail, 
And echo cons the doolfu'S tale; 
The lintwhites in the hazel braes. 
Delighted, rival ither's lays; 
The craik^ amang the clover hay. 
The paitrick whirrin' o'er the ley, 
The swallow jinkin' round my shiel,^^ 
Amuse me at my spinning-wheel. 

Wi' sma' to sell and less to buy, 
Aboon distress, below envy, 
Oh, wlia wad leave this humble state 
For a' the pride of a' the great ? 
Amid their flaring, idle toys. 
Amid their cumbrous, dinsome joys. 
Can they the peace and pleasure feel 
Of Bessy at her spinning wheel ? 

3 A portion of ground. ■* A sum of money. 
6 Ask. 6 Fool. ■^ Hand. 

Comfortably. « Wraps. 3 Soft. * Run. 
»«o, , 3 _, ''Wood-pigeon. 



' v^omiorcauiy. - wraps. " Doii 
Cool. ^'Sheltered place. ' Wo( 
Woeful. 9 Landrail, i" Co^tag-g^ 



SO^GS. 



939 



NITIISDALE'S WELCOME HAME. 

This song- was written to celebrate the return 
to Scotland of Lady Winifred Maxwell, a 
descendant of the attainted Earl of Niths- 
dale. Tne music to which the poet com- 
posed the verses was by Captain Riddel of 
Grlennddel. 

The noble Maxwells and their powers 

Are coming o'er the Border, 
And they'll gae big Terregle's towers. 

And set them a' in order. 
And they declare Terregle's fair. 

For their abode they choose it; 
There's no a heart in a' the land 

But's lighter at the news o't. 

Though stars in skies may disappear, 

And angry tempests gather; 
Th» happy hour may soon be near 

That brings us pleasant weather 
The weary night o' care and grief 

May haea joyfu' morrow; 
go dawning day has brought relief — 

Fare weel our niffht o' sorrow! 



COUNTRIE LASSIE. 

Tune—" The Country Lass." 

In simmer, when the hay was ma"wn, 

And corn waved green in ilka field. 
While clover blooms white o'er the lea, 

And roses blawin ilka bield;^ 
Blithe Bessie in the milking shiel,^ 

Says, "I'll be wed, come o't what 
will:" 
Out spak a dame in wrinkled eikF — 

'• O' guid advisement comes na ill. 

" It's ye hae wooers mony ane. 

And, lassie, ye're but young, ye ken; 
Then wait a wee, and caimie w^ale,'* 

Arouthie butt, a routine ben:^ 
There's Johnnie o' the Buskie Glen, 

Fu" is his barn, fu' is his byre; 
Tak this frae me, my bonny hen. 

It's plenty beats the luver's fire." 

" For Johnnie o' the Buskie Glen, 

I dinna care a single flie; 
He lo'es sae weel his craps and kye. 

He has nae hive to spare for me: 



1 Shelterea place. 2 Shed. 3 Age. 
choose, s A home with plenty in it. 



Wisely 



But blithe's the blink o' Robbie's ee. 
And weel I wat he lo'es me dear: 

Ae blink o' him I wadna gie 

For Buskie Glen and a' his gear." 

"Oh, thoughtless lassie, life's a 
f a light ;'^ 
The canniest gate,' the strife is sair: 
But ay fu'-hant is fechtin' best, 
A hungry care's an unco care: 
But some will spend, and some will 
spare, 
And wilfu' folk maun hae their will; 
Syne^ as ye brew, my maiden fair, 
Keep mind that ye maun drink the 
yill." 

" Oh, gear will buy me rigs o' land, 

And gear will buy me sheep and kye; 
But the tender heart o' leesome^ luve 

The gowd and siller canna buy; 
We may be poor— Robbie and I, 

Light is the burden luve lays on ; 
Content and luve bring peace and joy— 

W^hat mair hae queens upon a 
throne ?" 



FAIR ELIZA. 

Turn again, thou fair Eliza, 

Ae kind blink before we part, 
Rue on thy despairing lover! 

Canst thou brealv his faithfu' heart ? 
Turn again, thou fair Eliza; 

If to love thy heart denies. 
For pity hide the cruel sentence 

Under friendship's kind disguise! 

Thee, dear maid, hae I offended ? 

The offence is loving thee: 
Canst thou wreck his peace forever 

Wha for thine wad gladly die ? 
While the life beats in my bosom, 

Thou slialt mix in ilka throe; 
Turn again, thou lovely maiden, 

Ae sweet smile on me bestow. 

Not the bee upon the blossom. 
In the pride o' sunny noon; 

Not the little sporting fairy. 
All beneath the simmer moon: 



* Struggle, 
some. 



7 Easiest way. 3 And. 9 Glad 



240 



BURNS' WORKS. 



Not the poet, in the moment 

Fancy lightens in his ee. 
Kens the pleasure, feels the rapture, 

That thy presence gies to me. 



OH, LUVE WILL VENTURE IN. 
Tune — " The Posie." 

Oh, luve will venture in 

Where it duurna weel be seen; 
Oil, love will venture in 

Where wisdom ance has been; 
But I will down yon river rove, 

Amang the woods sae green — 
And a' to pu' a posie 

To my ain dear May. 

The primrose I will pu', 

The firstling of the year; 
And I will pu' the pink. 

The emblem o' my dear; 
For she's the pink o' womankind, 

And blooms without a peer — 
And a' to be a posie 

To my ain dear May. 

I'll pu' the budding rose, 

When Phoebus peeps in view. 
For it's like a baumy kiss 

O' her sweet, bonny mou'; 
The liyacinth's for constancy, 

Wi' its unchanging blue — 
And a' to be a posie 

To my ain dear May. 

The lily it is pure. 

And the lily it is fair, 
And in her lovely bosom 

I'll place the lily there; 
The daisy's for simplicity, 

And unaffected air — 
And a' to be a posie 

To my ain dear May. 

The hawthorn I will pu', 

Wi' its locks o' siller gray, 
Where, like an aged man, 

It stands at break of day, [bush 
But the songster's nest within the 

I winna tak away — 
And a' to be a posie 

To my ain dear May. 

The Avoodbine I will pu', 
Wlieu the evening star is near. 



And the diamond draps o' dew 
Shall be her een sae clear ; 

The violet's for modesty, 

Which wcol she fa's to wear — 

And a' to be a posie 
To my ain dear May. 

I'll tie the posie round 

Wi" the silken band of hwe. 
And I'll place it in her breast, 

And I'll swear by a' above. 
That to my latest draught o' life 

The band shall ne'er remove— v 
And this will be a posie 

To my ain dear May. 



THE BANKS 0' DOON. 

Tune—'* Caledonian Hunt's Delight." 

This is a second version of the song which 
the poet composed in 17S7: and although 
greatly inferior in many respects to the tirst, 
it has almost entirely superseded it. For 
the subject of the song, see the first version, 
p. 203. 

Ye banks and braes o' bonny Doon, 

How can ye bloom sae fresh and 
fair ; 
How can ye chant, ye little birds. 

And I sae weary, fu' o' care I 
Thou' 11 break my lieart, thou warbling 
bird, [thorn , 

That wantons through the lowering 
Thou minds me o' departed joys. 

Departed — never to return ! 

Oft liae I roved by bonny Doon, 

To see the rose and woodbine twine^ 
And ilka bird sang o' its luve. 

And fondly sae did I o' mine. 
Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose, 

Fu' sweet upon its thorny tree ; 
And my fa use luver stole my rose. 

But, ah ! he left the thorn wi' me. 



SIC A WIFE AS WILLIE HAD. 
Tune—" The Eight Men of Moidart." 
Wii.LiE Wastle dwalt on Tweed, 

The spot they ca'd it Linkum-doddie; 
Willie was a wabstei^ guid. 

Could stown- a clue wi' ony bodie; 
He had a wife was dour and din. 

Oh, Tinkler INiadgie was her mitlier; 



1 Weaver. - Stolen. 



SONGS. 



241 



Sic a wife as Willie liad, 
I wadna gie a button for lier. 

Slie lias an ee — slie has but ane, 

The cat has twa the very colour; 
Five rusty teeth, forbye''^ a stump, 

A clapper-tongue wad deave a miller; 
A whiskin' beard about her mou', 

Her nose and chin they threaten 
ither — 
Sic a wife as Willie had, 

I wadna gie a button for her. 

She's bow-hough'd, she's hein-shinn'd, 

Ae limpin' leg, a hand-breed shorter; 
She's twisted right, she's twisted left. 

To balance fair in ilka quarter : 
She has a hump upon her breast. 

The twin o' that upon her shouther — 
Sic a wife as Willie had, 

I wadna gie a button for her. 

Auld baudrons"* by the ingle^ sits. 

And wi' her loof*^ her face a-washin'; 
Bui Willie's wife is nae sae trig,' 

She dights her grunzie** wi, a hush- 
ion;^ 
Her walie nieves^'^ like midden-creels, 

Her face wad fyle the Logan Water — 
Sic a wife as Willie had, 

I wadna gie a button for her. 



SMILING SPRI>jG COMES IN 

REJOICING. 

Tune—" The Bonny Bell.' 

The smiling Spring comes in rejoicing 

And surly Winter grimly flies; 
Now crystal clear are the falling wa 
ters. 

And bonny blue are the sunny skies 
Fresh o'er the mountains breaks forth 
the morning, 

The evening gilds the ocean's swell 
AJl creatures joy in the sun's returning, 

And I rejoice in my bonny Bell. 

The flowery Spring leads sunny Sum- 
mer, 

And yellow Autumn presses near. 
Then in his turn comes gloomy Winter, 

Till smiling Spring again appear. 

8 Besides. * The Cat."^ Fire. « Palm. ^ Clean. 
• Mouth. * An old stockin.19:. w Ample iists. 



Thus seasons dancing, life advancing. 
Old Time and Nature their changes 
tell. 

But never ranging, still unchanging, 
I adore my boiiuy Bell. 



THE GALLANT WEAVER. 

Tune — " The Weavers' March." 
Where Cart* riiis rowin' to the sea. 
By mony a flower raid spreading tree, 
Their lives a lad, the lad for me. 

He is a gallant weaver. 
Oh, I had wooers aught or nine. 
They gied me rings and ribbons iine; 
And I was fear'd my heart would tine,' 

And I gied it to the weaver. 

My daddie sign'd my tocher- band, ^ 
To gie the lad that has the land. 
But to my heart I'll add my hand. 

And gie it to the weaver. 
While birds rejoice in leafy bov^-ers; 
While bees delight in opening flovver.;; 
While corn grows green m summer: 
showers, 

I'll love my gallant weaver. 



SHE'S FAIR AND FAUSE. 
Tune — '' She's Fair and Fause." 
She's fair and fause that causes my 
smart, 
I lo'ed her meilde and lang; 
She's broken her vow, she's broken my 
heart. 
And I may e'en gae hang, 
A coof^ cam wi' routh o'gear,- 
And I liae tint'^ my dearest dear; 
But woman is but v/arld's gear, 
Sae let the bonny lassie gang. 

Whae'er ye be that woman love. 

To this be never blind, 
Nae ferlie'' 'tis, though fickle she prove, 

A woman has't by kind, 
O woman, lovely woman fair! 
An angel form's fa'n to thy share: 
'Twad been o'er meikle to gien^ thee 
mair — 

I mean an angel mind. 



■i "Lose. 2 Marriage-deed. 

1 Fool. - Abundance of wealth. 3 Lost. 
* Wonder, ^ Have given. 

* The Cart is a river in Renfrewshire, 
which runs through the town of Paisley, cele- 
brated for the labours of the loom. 



242 



BURNS' Vv'OIUIS. 



MY AIN KIND DEARIE, O. 
Tune—" The Lea-Rig." 
When o'er the hill the eastern star 

Tells bughtin-time- is near, my jo; 
And owsen frae the furrow'd field 
Return sae dowf- and weary, 0; 
Down by the burn, where scented 
birks^ 
Wi' dew are hanging clear, my jo, 
I'll meet thee on the lea- rig,"* 
My ain kind dearie, ! 

In mirkest^ glen, at midnight hour, 

I'd rove, and ne'er be eerie, ^ O; 
If through that ^len I gaed to thee, 

My ain kind dearie, O! 
Although the night were ne'er sae wild. 

And I were ne'er sae wearie, 0, 
I'd meet thee on the lea-rig, 

My ain kind dearie, O ! 

The hunter lo'es the morning sun. 

To rouse the mountain deer, my jo; 
At noon the fisher seeks the glen. 

Along the burn to steer, my jo; 
Gie me the hour o' gloamin' gray. 

It maks my heart sae cheery, O, 
To meet thee on the lea-rig. 

My ain kind dearie, ! 



MY WIFE'S A WINSOME WEE 

THING. 

The following lively lines, the poet tells us, 
were written extempore to the old air of 
" My Wife's a Wanton Wee Thing :— 

She is a winsome wee thing, 
She is a handsome wee thing, 
She is a bonny wee thing, 
This sweet wee wife o' mine. 

I never saw a fairer, 
I never lo'ed a dearer: 
And neist my heart I'll wear her. 
For fear my jewel tine.^ 

She is a winsome wee thing. 
She is a handsome wee thing, 
She is a bonny wee thing, 
This sweet wee wife o' mine. 



1 Folding-time. - Dull. ^ Birches. 

* Grassy ridge. ^ Darkest. "^ Frightened. 

1 Be losL. 



The warld's wrack we share o't. 
The warstle and the care o't; 
Wi' her I'll blithely bear it, 
And think my lot divine. 



HIGHLAND MARY. 

Tune— " Kathrlne Ogic." 
This is another of those glorious lyrics inspir- 
ed by the poet's passion for Highland Mary • 
and which celebrates, in strains worthy or 
the occasion, their last interview, and her 
untimely and lamented death. " The follow- 
ing song," he says, in a letter to Thomson, 
enclosing the verses, " pleases me : I think 
it is in my happiest manner. The subject of 
the song is one of the most interesting pas- 
sages of my youthful days ; and I own that 
I should be much flattered to see the verses 
set to an air which would insure celebrity. 
Perhaps, after all, it is the still glowing 
prejudice of my heart that throws a borrow- 
ed lustre over the merits of the composi- 
tion." See p. 219. for an account of Mary. 

Ye banks, and braes, and streams 
around 

The castle o' Montgomery, [flowers. 
Green be your woods, and fair your 

Your waters never drumlie !^ 
There simmer first unfaulds her robes. 

And there the langest tarry; 
For there I took the last fare wee I 

O' my sweet Highland Mar}^ 

How sweetly bloom'd the gay green 
birk !-' 

How rich the hawthorn's blossom ! 
As underneath their fragrant shade, 

I clasped her to my bosom ! 
The golden hours, on angel wings, 

Flew o'er me and my dearie; 
For dear to me, as light and life, 

Was my sweet Highland Mary ! 

Wi' mouy a vow, and lock'd embrace, 

Our parting was fu' tender; 
And, pledging aft to meet again. 

We tore oursels asunder; 
But, oh ! fell Death's untimely frost. 

That nipt my flower sae early ! — 
Now green's the sod, and cauld's the 
clay, 

That wraps my Highland Mary 1 

Oh, pale, pale now, those rosy lips, 
I aft hae kiss'd sae fondly ! 

And closed for' aye the sparkling 
glance 
That dwelt on me sae kindly ! 

1 Muddy. " Birch. 



SONGS. 



S43 



And mouldering now in silent dust 
That heart that lo'ed me dearly — 

But still within my bosom's core 
Shall live my Highland Mary 1 



AULD BOB MORRIS. 

The two first lines of the following song were 
taken from an old ballad— the rest is the 
poet's : — 

There's auld Rob Morris that wons^ 

in yon glen, 
He's the king o' guid fellows and 

wale' of auld men; 
He has gowd in his cofEers, he has 

owsen and kine, [mine. 

And ae bonny lassie, his darling and 

She's fresh as the morning the fairest 
in May; [new hay; 

She's sweet as the evening amaug the 

As blithe and as artless as lambs on 
the lea, [my ee. 

And dear to my heart as the light to 

But oh ! she's an heiress — auld Robin's 
a laird, [house and yard; 

And my daddie has nought but a cot- 

A wooer like me maunna hope to come 
speed; [be my dead.^ 

The wounds I must hide that will soon 

The day comes to me, but delight 
brings me nane; [it isgane. 

The night comes to me, but my rest 

1 wander my lane like a night-troubled 
ghaist, [my breast. 

And I sigh as my heart it wad burst in 

Oh, had she but been of a lower degree, 
I then might hae hoped she'd hae 

smiled upon me ! [my bliss, 

Oh . how past descriving^ had then been 
As now my distraction no words can 

express ! 



DUNCAN GRAY. 

This song was written on the model and to 
;he tune of a coarse old ditty in Johnson's 
Museum^ the name of the hero, and a line or 
two, bemg all that was retained. 

Duncan Gray cam here to woo, 
Ha, ha, the wooing o't. 



' Dv.cUs. 2 Choice. ^ Death. * Describing. 



On blithe yule night when we were fou, 

Ha, ha, the wooing o't. 
Maggie coost her head fu' high, 
Ijook'd asklent and unco skeigh,* 
Gart poor Duncan stand abeigh;^ 

Ha, ha, the wooing o't, 

Duncan fleech'd,^ and Duncan pray'd. 

Ha, ha, the wooing o't: 
Meg was deaf as Ailsa Craig,* 

Ha, ha, the wooing o't, 
Duncan sigh'd baith out and in, 
(iiaf* his een baith bleert and blin*, 
Spak o' lowpin' o'er a linn; 

Ha, ha, the wooing o't. 

Time and chance are but a tide; 

Ha, ha, the wooing o't; 
Slighted love is sair to bide; 

Ha, ha, the wooing o't. 
Shall 1, like a fool, quoth he. 
For a haughty hizzie die ? 
She may gae to — France for me ,' 

Ha, ha, the wooing o't. 

How it comes let doctors tell; 

Ha, ha, the wooing o't; 
Meg grew sick as he grew heal; 

Ha, ha, the wooing o't. 
Something in her bosom wrings. 
For relief a sigh she brings; 
And oh, her een, they spak sic things! 

Ha, ha, the wooing o't. 

Duncan was a lad o' grace; 

Ha, ha, the wooing o't; 
Maggie's was a piteous case; 

Ha, ha, the wooing o't. 
Duncan couldna be her death. 
Swelling pity smoor'd^ his wrath; 
Now they're crouse and canty^ baith; 

Ha, ha, the wooing o't. 



COCK UP YOUR BEAVER. 

Tune — " Cock up your beaver." 

The second stanza only of this song is Burns' 
— the first is old. 

When first my brave Johnnie lad 

Came to this town, 
He had a blue bonnet 

That wanted the crown ; 

1 Disdainful. 2 Aloof. 3 Flattered. * Wept. 
5 Smothered. ^ Cheerful and happy. 

* A well-known rocky islet in the Frith of 
Clyde. 



244 



BURNS' WORKS. 



But now lie lias gotten 
A hat and a feather, — 

Hey, brave Johnnie lad, 
Cock up your beaver ! 

Cock up your beaver, 

And cock it f u' sprusli. 
We'll over the Border 

And gie them a brush ; 
There's somebody there 

We'll teach them behaviour- 
Hey, brave Johnnie lad, 

Cock up your beaver ! 



BONNY PEG. 
As I came in by our gate end. 

As day was waxin' weary, 
Oh, wha came tripping doAvn the street. 

But bonny Peg, my dearie ! 

Her air sae sweet, and shape complete, 
Wi' nae proportion wanting. 

The Queen of Love did never move 
Wi' a motion mair enchanting. 

Wi' linked hands, we took the sands 

Adown yon winding river; 
And, oh! that hour and broomy bower. 

Can I forget it ever ? 

THE TITHER MORN. 

To a Highland Air. 

The tither morn, 

When I forlorn, 
Aneath an aik sat moaning, 

I did na trow^ 

I'd see my jo^ 
Beside me gin the gloaming. 

But he sae trig^ 

Lap o'er the rig, 
And dawtingly* did cheer me, 

When I, what reck, 

Did least expec' 
To see my lad sae near me. 

His bonnet he, 

A thought ajee, 
Cock'd sprush when first he clasp'd me; 

And I, I wat,^ 

Wi' fainness grat,^ 
While in his grips he press'd me. 

Deil tak the war! 

1 late and air 



1 Think. " Dear. " N^at. 
» Know. " Wept. 



1 Lovi 



riy 



Hae wish'd since Jock departed; 

But now as glad 

I'm wi* my lad 
As short syne broken-hearted. 

Fu' aft at e'en 

Wi' dancing keen, 
When a' were blithe and merry, 

I cared na by, 

Sae sad was I 
In absence o' my dearie. 

But, praise be blest. 

My mind's at rest, 
I'ri happy wi' my Johnny ; 

At kirk and fair, 

I'se aye be there, 
Ana be as canty' s'' ony. 



THE DEUK'S DANG O'ER MY 

DADDIE, O. 

Tune—" The deuk's dang o'er my daddie." 

The bairns gat out wi' an unco shout. 

The deuk's' dang o'er my daddie, 01 
The fient may care, quo' the feirie^ 
auld wife. 

He was but a paidlin^ body, 0! 
He paidles out, and he paidles in, 

And he paidles late and early, 0! 
Thae seven lang years I hae lien by 
his side, 

And he is but a fusionless'* carlie, 01 

Oh, hand your tongue, my feirie auld 
wife; . ^ [0! 

Oh, liaud your tongue now, Nansie, 
I've seen the day, and sae hae ye, 

Ye wadna been sae donsie,^ O! 
I've seen the day ye butter'd my brose, 

And cuddled'' me late and early, O; 
But downa do's'' come o'er me now. 

And, oh! I feel it sairly, 01 



HAPPY FRIENDSHIP. 

Here around the ingle^ bleezing, 
Wha sae happy and sae free; 

Though the northern wind blaw« 
freezing, 
Frien'ship warms baith you and me. 

7 Happy. 
1 Duck. 2 Sturdy. ^ Wandering aimlessly 
about. * Sapless, ^ Pettish. « Fondled, 
7 A phrase signifying the exhaustion of age. 

» Fireside. 



SONGS. 



345 



Happy we are a' tliegitlier, 
Happy we'll be yin and a'; 

Time sliall see us a' tlie Llither, 
Ere we rise to gang awa'. 

See tlie miser o'er liis treasure 

Gloating wi' a greedy ee! 
Can he feel the glow o' pleasure 
. That around us here we see ? 

Can the peer, in silk and ermine, 
Ca' his conscience half his own; 

His claes'^ are spun and edged wi' ver- 
min, 
Though he stan' afore a throne! 

Thus, then, let us a' be tassing^ 
AK our stoups o' gen'rous flame; 

And, while round the board 'tis pass- 
ing, 
Raise a sang in f rien'ship's name 

Prien'ship maks us a' mair happy, 
Frien'ship gies us a' delight; 

Frien'ship consecrates the drappie, 
Frien'ship brings us here to-night. 



OH, SAW YE MY DEARIE. 

Tune— ''Eppie M'Nab." 
Oh, saw ye my dearie, mv Eppie 

M'Nab ? [M'Nab ? 

Oh, saw ye my dearie, my Eppie 
She's down in the yard, she's kissin' 

the laird, [Rab. 

She winna come hame to her ain Jock 

Oh, come thy ways to me, my Eppie 
M'Nab! [M'Nab! 

Oh, come thy ways to me, my Eppie 

Whate'er thou hast done, be it late, be 
it soon, [Rab. 

Thou's welcome again to thy ain Jock 

What says she, my dearie, my Eppie 

M'Nab ? [M'Nab ? 

What says she, my dearie, my Eppie 

She lets thee to wit,* that she has thee 

forgot, [Rab. 

And forever disowns thee, her ain Jock 

Oh, had I ne'er seen thee, my Eppie 

M'Nab ! 



* Clothes. 3 Tossing 

1 Know. 



Oh, had I ne'er seen thee, my Eppie 

M'Nab! 
As light as the air, as fause as thou's 

fair, [Rab. 

Thou's broken the heart o' thy ain Jack 



THE CARLE OF KELLYBURN 
BRAES. 

Tune—" Kellyburn Braes." 

There lived a carle* in Kellyburn 

braes, [thyme.) 

(Hey, and the rue grows bonny wi' 

And he had a wife was the ])Iague o'. 

his days; [is in prim;'. 

And the thyme it is wither'd and rue 

Ae day as the carle gaed"^ up the laug 

glen, [thyme 

(Hey, and the rue grows bonny wi' 

He met wi' the devil, says, " How do 

you fen 1^ [is in prime. 

And the thyme it is wither'd and rue 

" I've got a bad wife, sir: that's a' my 

complaint; [tlipiie,) 

(Hey, and the rue grows bonny wi' 

For, saving your presence, to her ye're 

a saint; [is in prime." 

And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue 

"It's neither your stot^ nor your 

staig^ I shall crave, [thyme,) 

(Hey, and the rue grows bonny wi' 

But gie me your wife, man, for her I 

must have, [rue is in prime. " 

And the thyme it is wither'd, and 

''Oh! welcome, most kindly," the 

blithe carle said, [thyme,) 

(Hey, and the rue grows bonny wi' 

*' But if ye can match her, ye're waur 

than ye're ca'd, [is in prime." 

And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue 

The devil has got the auld wife on his 

back; [thyme,) 

(Hey, and the rue grows bonny wi* 

And, like a poor pedlar, he's carried 

his pack, [is in prime. 

And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue 

» Man. 2 Went. ^ Live. * Bullock. & Colt. 



240 



BURNS* WORKS. 



He's carried her hame to his ain hallan- 

door, [thyme,) 

(Hey, and the rue grows bonny wi' 

Syne bade her gae in, for a bitch and 

a whore, [is in prime. 

And tlie thyme it is wither'd, and rue 

Then straight he makes fifty, the pick 

o' his baud, [thyme.) 

(Hey, and the rue grows bonny wi' 

Turn out on her guard in the chip of a 

hand; [is in prime. 

And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue 

The carlin*^ gaed through them like 

ony wud^ bear, [thyme) 

(Hey, and the rue grows bonny wi' 

Whae'er she gat hands on cam near 

her na mair; [is in prime. 

And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue 

A reekit^ wee devil looks over the wa' ; 

(Hey, and the rue grows bonny wi' 

thyme,) [us a', 

•'Oh, help, master, help! or she'll ruin 

And the thyme it is wither'd, and 

rue is in prime." 

The devil he swore by the edge o' his 

knife; [thyme,) 

(Hey, and the rue grows bonny wi' 

He pitied the man that Avas tied to a | 

wife; [is in prime. 

And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue 

The devil he swore bv the kirk and the 

bell, [thyme,) 

(Hey, and the rue grows bonny wi' 

He was not in wedlock, thank Heaven, 

but in hell; [is in prime. 

And the thyme it is v.'ither'd, and rue 

Then Satan has travell'd again with 

his pack; [thyme,) 

(Hey, and the rue grows bonny wi' 

And to her auld husband he's carried 

her back; [is in prime. 

And the th}Tiie it is wither'd, and rue 

"I liae been a devil the feck o' my 

life; [thyme,) 

(Hey, and the rue grov/s l)onny wi' 

But ne'er was in hell, till 1 met wi' a 

wife; [is in prime." 

And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue 



Woman. ' Wild. « Smoked. ^ Uost. 



YE JACOBITES BY NAME. 
Tune—" Ye Jacobites by Name." 

Ye Jacobites by name, give an ear, 
give an ear ; 
Ye Jacobites by name, give an ear ; 
Ye Jacobites by name. 

Your fauts I will proclaim. 
Your doctrines I maun blame - 
You shall hear. 

What is right, and what is wrang, by 
the law, by the law. 
What is right, and what is wrang, 
by the law ! 
What is right, and what is wrang ? 
A short sword, and a lang, 
A weak arm and a Strang 
For to draw. 

What makes heroic strife famed afar, 
famed afar ? [afar ? 

What makes heroic strife famed 
What makes heroic strife? 
To whet til' assassin's knife. 
Or hunt a parent's life 
Wi' bluidie war. 

Then let your schemes alone, in the 
state, in the state; [state ; 

Then let your schemes alone in the 
Then let your schemes alone, 
Adore the rising sun. 
And leave a man undone 
To his fate. 



AS I WAS A-WANDERING. 

Tuns — '' Rinn Meudial mo Mhealladh."' 

As I was a-wandering ae midsummer 

c'enin': [kinff their gam^, 

The pipers and youngsters were ma- 

Amang them I spied my faithless fause 

lover, [dolonr again. 

Which bled a' the wound o' my 

Weel, since he has left me, may 
pleasure gae wi' him; 
I may be distress'd, but I winna 
complain ; 
I'll flatter my fancy I may get 
anither. 
My heart it shall never be broken 
for ane. 



SONGS. 



247 



I couldna get sleeping till dawin^ for 

greeting,'- [and the rain : 

The tears trickled down like the hail 

Had I na got greeting, my heart wad a 

broken, [ingpain! 

For, oh! luve forsaken's a torment- 

Although he has left me for greed o' 

the siller, [win; 

I dinna envy him the gains he can 

I rather wad bear a' the lade o' my 

sorrow [to him. 

Thau ever hae acted sae faithless 



THE SLAVE'S LAMENT. 

It was in SAveet Senegal that my foes 
did me enthral, 
For the lands of Virginia, ; 
Torn from that lovely shore, and must 
never see it more, 
And alas I am weary, weary, 0! 

All on that charming coast is no bitter 
snow or frost, 
Like the lands of Virginia, O; 
There streams forever flow, and there 
flowers forever blow. 
And alas I am weary, weary, ! 

The burden I must bear, while the 
cruel scourge I fear, 
In the lauds of Virginia, O; 
And I think on friends most dear, with 
the bitter, bitter tear, 
And alas I am weary, weary, 01 



THE WEARY FUND 0' TOW. 

Tune— "The Weary Fund o' Tow." 
I BOUGHT my wife a staue o' lint' 

As guid as e'er did grow: 
And a' tl.at she has made o' that 

Is ae poor pund o' tow.® 

The weary pund, the weary pund, 
The weary pundo' tow; 

I think my wife will end her life 
Before she spin her tow. 

There sat a bottle in a l)ole, 
Beyont the ingle low,^ 

1 Dawn. 2 Weeping-. 
1 Flax. 2 Hemp or flax in a prepared state. 
^ Flame of the fire. 



And aye she took the tithe r souk,** 
To droulc^ the stourie" tow. 

Quoth I, "For shame, ye dirty dame, 
Gae spin your tap o' tow ! " 

She took the rock, and wi' a knock 
She brak it o'er my pow. 

At last her feet — I sang to see 't — 
Gaed foremost o'er the knowe; ' 

And or I wad anither jad, 
I'll wallop in a tow.^ 



LADY MARY ANN. 

Tune—" Craigton's Growing." 

On, Lady Mary Ann 

Looks o'er the castle wa'. 
She saw three bonny boys 

Playing at the ba'; 
The youngest he was 

The flower aiiiang them a' — 
My bonny laddie's young. 

But he's growin' yet. 

father ! O father ! 

An ye think it fit. 
We'll sena him a year 

To the college yet : 
We'll sew a green ribbon 

Round about his hat. 
And that will let them ken 

He's to marry yet. 

Lady Mary Ann 

Was a flower i' the dew. 
Sweet was its smell, 

And bonny was its hue; 
And the langer it blossom'd 

The sweeter it grew; 
For the lily in the bud 

W^ill be bonnier yet. 

Young Ciiarlie Cochrane 

Was the sprout of au aik; 
Bonny and bloomiu' 

And strauglit was its make; 
The sun took delight 

To shine for its sake. 
And it will be the brag 

0' the forest yet. 

The simmer is gane 
When the leaves they were green, 



•♦ SwijT. -5 Drench. 

Swing iu a rope. 



Dusty. T HilL 



S48 



BURNS' WORKS. 



And the days are awa' 

'"hat we liae seen; 
jiut far better days 

I trust will come again, 
For my bonny laddie's young, 

But he's growin' yet. 



OH, KENMURE'S ON AND AWA'. 

Tune—" Oh, Kenmure'son and awa', Willie." 

"This song," says Cunningham, "refers to 
the fortunes of the gallant Gordons of Ken- 
mure in the fatal ' Fifteen.' The Viscount 
left Galloway with two hundred horsemen 
well armed ; he joined the other lowland 
Jacobites — penetrated to Preston— repulsed, 
and at last yielded to, the attack of General 
Carpenter — and perished on the scaffold. 
He was a good as well as a brave man, and 
his fate was deeply lamented. The title has 
since been restored to the Gordon's line." 
Burns was, once at least, an invited guest 
at Kenmure Castle, near New Galloway. 

On, Kenmure's on and awa', Willie ! 

Oil, Kenmure's on and awa' ! 
And Kenmure's lord's the bravest lord 

That ever Galloway saw. 

Success to Kenmure's band, Willie ! 

Success to Kenmure's band ; 
There's no a heart tliat fears a Whig 

That rides by Kenmure's hand. 

Here's Kenmure's health in wine, 
Willie ! 
Here's Kenmure's health in wine; 
There ne'er was a coward o' Kenmure's 
blude, 
Nor yet o' Gordon's line. 

01), Kenmure's lads are men, Willie ! 

Oh, Kenmure's lads are men; 
Their hearts and swords are metal 
true — 

And that their faes shall ken. 

They'll live or die wi' fame, Willie ! 

They'll live or die wi' fame; 
But soon wi' sounding victorie 

May Kenmure's lord come hame ! 

Here's him that's far awa', Willie ! 

Here's him that's far awa'! 
And here's the llower that I lo'e best — 

The rose that's like the snaw ! 



MY COLLIER LADDIE. 

Tune—" The Collier Laddie." 

"I do not know," says Burns, " a blither olcj 
song than this;" which he modified and 
altered, and then sent to the Musenin. 

On, whare live ye, my bonny lass ? 

And tell me what they ca' ye ? 
My name, she says, is Mistress Jean; 
And 1 follow the Collier Laddie. 
My name, she says, is Mistress 

Jean, 
And I follow the Collier Laddie, 

Oh, see you not yon hills and dales. 

The sun shines on sae brawlie ! 
They a' are mine, and they shall be 
thine. 
Gin ye'll leave your Collier Laddie. 
They a' are mine, and they shall 

be thine. 
Gin ye'll leave your Collier Laddie. 

And ye shall gang in gay attire, 

Weel buskit' up sae gaudy; 
And ane to wait at every hand. 

Gin ye'll leave your Collier Laddie. 
And ane to wait at every hand, 
Gin ye'll leave your Collier Laddie. 

Though ye had a' the sun shines on. 

And the earth conceals sae lowly, 
I wad turn my back on you and it a'. 
And embrace my Collier Laddie, [a', 
I wad turn my back on you and it 
And embrace my Collier Laddie. 

I can win my five pennies a day, 

And spen't at night fu' brawlie; 

And mak my bed in the Collier's neuk' 

And lie down wi' my Collier Laddie. 

And mak my bed in the Collier's 

neuk, [die. 

And lie down wi' my Collier Lad- 

Luve for luve is the bargain for me, 

Though the wee cot-house should 

haud me; [bread, 

And the warld before me to win my 

And fair fa' my Collier Laddie. 

And the warld before me to win 

my bread. 
And fair fa' my Collier Laddie. 



1 Dressed. 



2Kut. 



SONGS. 



240 



FAREWELL TO A' OUR SCOTTISH 
FAME. 



TUNE- 



Such a Parcel of Rogues in a 
Nation." 



" Burns," says Cunningham, " has expressed 
sentiments in this song which %vere once 
popular in the north." The poet himself, 
indeed, appears to have been in the haoit of 
exoressing his feelings pretty freely regard- 
ing the Union.—" What," he exclaimed, on 
one occasion, " are all the advantages v.-hich 
mv country reaps from the Union that can 
counterbalance the annihilation of her inde- 
pendence, and even her very name ? Noth- 
ing can reconcile me to the terms, '"English 
Ambassador,' ^English Court,' " &c. 

Fareweel to a' our Scottisli fame, 

Fareweel our ancient glory ! 
Fareweel even to the Scottisli name, 

Sae famed in martial story ! 
Now Sark rins o'er tlie Solway sands, 

And Tweed rins to the ocean, 
To mark where England's province 
stands — 

Such a parcel of rogues in a nation ! 

What force or guile could not subdue. 

Through many warlike ages, 
Is wrought now by a coward few. 

For hireling traitors' wages. 
The English steel we could disdain, 

Secure in valour's station; 
But English gold has been our bane — 

Such a parcel of rogues in a nation ! 

Oh, would, ere I hud seen the day 

That treason thus could sell us, 
IMy auld gray head had lien in clay, 

Wi' Bruce and loyal Wallace ! 
But pith and power, till my last hour, 

I'll mak this declaration; [gold — 
We're bought and scld for English 

Such a parcel of rogues in a nation. 



HERE'S A HEALTH TO THEM 
■THAT'S AWA'. 

Tune — "■ Here's a health to them that's awa'." 

The poet's political predilections at this period 
of his life being somewhat marked, and of 
an ultra-liberal tendency, he is supposed to 
have thrown thepi into the following song, 
composed in honour of the leaders of the 
liberal party in the House of Commons : — 

Heine's a health to them that's awa', 
Here's a health to them that's awa' ; 



And wlia winna wish guid luck to our 

cause, 
May never guid luck be their fa'! 
It's guid to be merry and wise, 
It's guid to be honest and true, 
It's guid to support Caledonia's cause, 
And bide by the buff and the blue. 

Here's a health to them that's awa', 
Here's a health to them that's awa'. 
Here's a health to Charlie* the chief 

of the clan, 
Although that his band be but sma'. 
May Liberty meet wi' success ! 
May Prudence protect her frae evil ! 
May tyrants and tyranny tine in the 

mist, 
And wander their way to the devil ! 

Here's a health to them that's awa', 
Here's a health to them that's awa', 
Here's a health to Tammie,f the Nor- 
land laddie, 
That lives at the lug o' the law ! 
Here's freedom to him that wad read, 
Here's freedom to him that wad write! 
There's nane ever fear'd that the truth 

should be heard 
But they wham the truth wad indite.^ 

Here's a health to them that's awa', 
Here's a health to them that's awa'. 
Here's Chieftain M'Leod,:}: a chieftain 

vv^orth gowd. 
Though bred amang mountains o' snawl 
Here's a health to them that's awa'. 
Here's a health to them that's awa', 
And wha winna wish guid luck to oui 

cause. 
May never guid luck be their fa' ! 



ONG. 

TuxE— " I had a horse, I had nae main" 
On, poortith- cauld and restless love, 
Ye wreck my peace between ye; 

» Indict— impeach. 
2 Poverty. 

* The Right Hon. Charles James Fox. Buf? 
and blue formed the livery of Fox during the 
celebrated Westminster elections, and thus 
came to be adopted as the colours of the 
Whig party generally. 

t Thomas, afterwards Lord, Erskine. 

X M'Leod of Dunvegan, Isle of Skye, and 
then M. P. for Inverness. 



g50 



BURNS' WORKS. 



Yet poortith a' I could forgive, 
An 'twere na for my Jeanie. 

Oh, why should Fate sic pleasure 
have, 

Life's dearest bands untwining ? 
Or why sae sweet a iiower as love 

Depend on Fortune's shining ? 

This warld's wealth when I think on. 
Its pride and a' the lave o't — 

Fie, fie on silly coward man, 
That he should be the slave o't. 

Her een sae bonny blue betray 
How she repays my passion; 

But prudence is her o'erword^ aye, . 
She talks of rank and fashion. 

Oh, wha can prudence think upon, 

And sic a lassie by him ? 
Oh, wha can prudence think upon. 

And sae in love as I am ? 

How blest the hbmble cotter's fate ! 

He wooes his simple dearie; 
The silly bogles, wealth and state. 

Can never make them eerie.'* 



GALA WATER. 

There's braw, braw lads on Yarrow 
braes, [heather, 

That wander through the blooming 
But Yarrow braes' nor Ettrick shaws'^ 

Can match the lads o' Gala Water. 

But there is ane, a secret ane, 
Aboon them a' I lo'e him better; 

And I'll be his, and he'll be mine, 
The bonny lad o' Gala Water. 

Although his daddie was nae laird, 
And though I haena meikle tocher ;3 

Yet rich in kindest, truest love, 

We'll tent our flocks by Gala Water. 

It ne'er was wealth, it ne'er was wealth. 
That colV contentment, peace, or 
pleasure ; 



'^ Refrain. * Afraid. 
» Hills. 2 Woods. 3 Much money. * Bought. 



The bands and bliss o' mutual love. 
Oh, that's the chiefest warld's treas- 
ure! 



LORD GREGORY. 

This song was written in imitation of Dr. 
Wolcot's (Peter Pindar) ballad on the same 
subject,* of which Burns says, in a letter to 
Thomson, " Pindar's ' Lord Gregory ' is 
beautiful. I have tried to give you a Scots 
version, which is at your service. Not that I 
intend to enter the lists with Peter— that 
would be presumption indeed ! My song 
though much mferior in poetic merit, has, I 
think, more of the ballad simplicity m it." 
The idea of both songs, however, is taken 
from an old strain. 

Oh, mirk,' mirk is this midnight hour, 
And loud the tempest's roar; 

A waefu' wanderer seeks thy tower — 
Lord Gregory, ope thy door! 

An exile f rae her father's ha'. 

And a' for loving thee; 
At least some pity on me shaw, 

If love it may na be. 

Lord Gregory, mind'st thou not the 
grove. 

By bonny Irwin-side, 
Where first I own'd that virgin love 

I lang, lang had denied ? 

How aften didst thou pledge and vow 
Thou Avad for aye be mine; 

And my fond heart, itsel saetrue, 
It ne'er mistrusted thine. 



1 Dark. 
* The following is Wolcot's version :— 

'' Ah, ope, Lord Gregory, thy door! 
A midnight wanderer sighs, 
Hard rush the rains, the tempests roar, 
And lightnings cleave the skies. 

Who comes with woe at this drear night— 

A pilgrim of the gloom? 
If she whose love did once delight, 

My cot shall yield her room. 

'' Alas ♦ thou heard 'st a pilgrim mourn 
That once was prized by thee-, 
Think of the ring by yonder burn 
Thou gav'st to love and me. 

" But shouldst thou not poor Marian know, 
I'll turn my feet and part ; 
And think the storms that round me blow 
Far kinder than thy heart." 



SONGS. 



25i 



Hard is tliy heart, Lord Gregory, 

And tiinty is tliy breast — 
Thou dart of heaven that Hashest by, 

Oh, wilt thou give me rest'? 

Ye mustering thunders from above, 

Your willing vicrim see! 
But spare, and pardon my fause love 

His wrangs to Heaven and me ! 



OPEN THE DOOR TO ME, OH ! 

" Oh, open the door, some pity to show, 
Oh, open the door to me, oh! 

Though thou hast been false, I'll ever 
prove true. 
Oh, open the door to me, oh! 

"Cauld is the blast upon my pale 
cheek. 
But caulder thy love for me, oli! 
The frost that freezes the life at my 
heart 
Is nought to my pains f rae thee, oh ! 

** The wan moon is setting behind tlia 
white wave. 
And time is setting with me, oh! 
False friends, false love, farewell! for 
mair 
I'll ne'er trouble them nor thee, oh!" 

She has open'd the door, she has open'd 

it wide; [oh! 

She sees his pale corse on the plain, 

* * My true love !" she cried, and sanli 

down by his side. 

Never to rise again, oh ! 



YOUNG JESSIE. 

Tune — '^ Bonny Dundee." 

TsUE-hearted was he, the sad swain o' 

the Yarrow, [o' the Ayr, 

And fair are the maids on the banks 

But by the sweet side o' the Nitli's 

winding river [fair: 

Are lovers as faithful and maidens as 

To equal young Jessie seek Scotland 

all over; [in vain; 

To equal young Jessie you seek it 

Grace, beauty, and elegance fetter her 

lover, [chahi. 

And maidenly modesty fises the 



Oh, fresli is the rose in the gay, dewy 
morning, [close; 

And sweet is the lily at evening 
But in the fair presence o' lovely young 
Jessie, [rose. 

Unseen is the lily, unheeded the 
Love sits in her smile, a wizard en- 
snaring; [his laAv: 
Enthroned in her een he delivers 
And still to her charms she alone is a 
stranger — [of a' ! 
Her modest demeanour's the jewel 



THE POOR AND HONEST 

SODGER. 
Air— " The Mill, Mill O !" 

When wild war's deadly blast was 
blawn. 

And gentle peace returning, 
Wi' mony a sweet babe fatherless, 

And niony a widow mourning; 
I left the lines and tented field, 

Vv'iiere lang I'd been a lodger, 
My humble knapsack a' my wealth, 

A poor and honest sodger. 

A leal light heart was in my breast. 

My hand unstain'd wi' plunder. 
And for fair Scotia, hame again, 

I cheery on did wander. 
I thought upon the banks o' Coil, 

I thought upon my Nancy, 
I thought upon the witching smile 

That caught my youthful fancy. 

At length I reach'd the bonny glen 

Where early life I sported; 
I pass'd the mill, and trysting thorn, 

Where Nancy aft I courted: 
Wha spied^ I but my ain dear maid, 

Down by her mother's dwelling! 
And turn'dme round to hide the flood 

That in my een was swelling. 

Wi' alter'd voice, quoth I, " Sweet 
lass. 

Sweet as yon hawthorn's blossom, 
Oh! happy, happy may he be. 

That's dearest to thy bosom ! 
My purse is light, I've far to gang, 

And fain wad be thy lodger; 
I've served my king and country lang— 

Take pity on a sodger." 

i Saw. 



252 



BURNS' WOUKS. 



Sae wistfully slie g-azed on me, 

And I()V(!lier was than ever; 
Quo' she, ' ' A sodger ance I lo'ed, 

Forget liim shall I never: 
Ovtr humble cot, and hamely fare, 

Ye freely shall partake it, 
That gallant badge — the dear cockade — 

Ye're welcome for the sake o't." 

She gazed — she redden'd like a rose — 

Syne- pale like ony lily; 
She sank within my arms, and cried, 

" Art thou my ain dear Willie ?" 
" By Him who made yon sun and sky, 

By whom true love's regarded, 
I am the man; and thus may still 

True lovers be rewarded! 

"The wars are o'er, and I'm come 
liame, 

And find thee still true-hearted; 
Though poor in gear, we're rich in 
love. 

And mair, we'se ne'er be parted." 
Quo' she, ' ' My grandsire left me gowd, 

A mailen-^ plenish'd fairly. 
And come, my faithful sodger lad, 

Thou'rt welcome to it dearly!" 

For gold the merchant ploughs the 
main, 

The farmer ploughs the manor; 
But glory is the sodger's i)rize, 

The sodger's wealth is honour: 
The brave poor sodger ne'er despise, 

Nor count him as a stranger; 
Remember, he's his country's stay 

In day and hour of danger. 



MEG O' THE MILL. 

Air — " Hey ! bonny Irss, will you lie in a 
barrai k ?" 

Oh, ken ye what Meg o' the Mill has 
gotten ? [gotten ? 

AjuI keai ye what Meg o' the Mill has 

She has gotten a coof ^ wi' a claut o' 
siller,^ [miller. 

And broken the heart o' the barley 

The miller was strappin', the miller 

"was ruddy; [lady; 

A heart like a lord, and a hue like a 



a Then. ^ Farm. 
Lout. 2 Plenty of money. 



The laird was a widdiei'u', blcerit 

knurl ;^ [churl.' 

She's left the guid-fellow and ta'en the 

The miller he hecht-* her a heart leal 
and loving; [mair moving, 

The laird did address her wi' matter 

A fine-pacing horse, wi' aclear-chain"d 
bridle, [saddle. 

A whip by her side, and a bonny side- 

Oh, wae on the siller, it is sae prevail- 
ing; [mailen!^ 

And wae on the love that is fixed on a 

A tocher's*' nae word in a true lover's 
parle, [warl'! 

But, gie me my love, and a fig for the 



WELCOME TO GENERAL 
DUMOURIER. 

Some one, in the presence of the poet, having 
expressed joy at the desertion of General 
Dumourier from the army of the French 
Republic, in 1793, after having? gained some 
splendid victories with it, in a few moments 
he chanted, almost extempore, the follow- 
ing verses to the tune of " Robin Adair :"— ' 

You're welcome to despots, Dumou- 
rier; [rier; 
You're welcome to despots. Dumou- 
How does Dampiere* do ? 
Ay, and Beurnonvillef too ? 
Why did they not come along with 
you, Dumourier? 

I will fight France with you, Dumou- 
rier; [rier; 
I will fight France wdtli you, Dumou- 
I will fight France with you, 
I will take my chance with you; 
By my soul I'll dance a dance with you, 
Dumourier. 

Then let us fight about, Dumourier; 

Then let us fight about, Dumourier; 
Then let us fight about. 
Till Freedom's spark is out, 

Then we'll be damn'd, no doubt, Du- 
mourier. 



^ Ill-tempered, bleared dwarf. •* Ollered 
^ Farm. « Dowr>'. 

* One of Dumourier's generals, 
t An emissary of the Convention's, 



SOXGS. 



253 



THE LAST TIME 1 CAIylE O'ER 
THE MOOK. 

In this song the poet is supposed to have 
given expression to certain feelings of ilUcit 
love which it is known he entertained for 
the beautiful and fascinating Mrs. Riddel 
of Woodley Park. It is but just to remem- 
ber, however, and charitable to believe, 
that the poet, with an eye to artistic efifect, 
may have purposely heightened his colours 
in order to increase the general effect of his 
picture. 

The last time I came o'er the moor, 

And left Maria's dwelling, 
What throes, what tortures passing 
cure, 

Were in my bosom swelling: 
Condemned to see my rival's reign, 

While I in secret languish; 
To feel a lire in every vein. 

Yet dare not speak my anguish. 

Love's veriest wretch, despairing, I 

Fain, fain my crime would cover: 
The unweeting groan, the bursting 
sigh, 

Betray the guilty lover. 
I know my doom must be despair. 

Thou wilt nor canst relieve me; 
But, Maria, hear my prayer. 

For pity's sake, forgive me I 

The music of thy tongue I heard, 

Nor wist while it enslaved me; 
I saw thine eyes; yet nothing fear'd, 

Till fears no more had saved me. 
The unwary sailor thus aghast 

The wheeling torrent viewing, 
In circling horrors yields at last 

In overwhelming ruin ! 



BLITHE HAE I BEEN. 

Tune — " Liggeram Cosh." 
Blithe hae I been on yon hill, 

As the lambs before me; 
Careless ilka thought and free, 

As the breeze Hew o'er me. 
Now nae langer sport and play, 

Mirth or sang can please me; 
Lesley is sae fair ancl coy, 

Care and anguish seize me. 

Heavy, heavy is the task, 
Hopeless love declaring; 



Trembling, I dow nocht but glower,^ 

Sighing, dumb, despairing ! 
If she winna ease the thraws- 

In my bosom swelling; 
Underneath the grass-green sod. 

Soon maun be my dwelling. 



LOGAN BRAES. 

Tune — " Logan Water." 

The poet, in a letter to Thomson, enclosing 
this song, says, regardmg its origin :— 
" Have you ever, my dear sir, felt your 
bosom ready to burst with indignation on 
readmg of those mighty villains who divide 
kingdom against kingdom, desolate prov- 
inces, and lay nations waste, out of the 
wantonness of ambition, or often from still 
more ig'noble passions? In a mood of this 
kind to-day, I recollected the air of ' Logan 
Water,' and it occurred to me that its quer- 
ulous melody probably had its origin from 
the plaintive indignation of some swelling, 
suffering heart, fired at the tyrannic strides 
of some public destroyer ; and overwhelmed 
with private distress, the consequence of a 
country's ruin. If I have done anything at 
ail like justice to my feelings, the following- 
song, composed in three-quarters of an 
hour's meditation in my elbow-chair, ought 
to have som.e merit." The two last lines of 
the first stanza the poet took from a very 
pretty song to the same air, written by Mr. 
John Mayne, author of a poem entitled, 
"The Siller Gun.' 

Logan, sweetly didst thou glide 
That day I was my Willie's bride ! 
And years sinsyne hae o'er us run, 
Like Logan to the simmer sun. 
But now thy Howery banks appear 
Like drumlie^ Winter, dark and drear. 
While my dear lad maun face his f aes. 
Far, far frae me and Logan braes ! 

Again the merry month o' May 
Has made our hills and valleys gay; 
The birds rejoice in leafy bowers. 
The bees lium round the breathing 

flowers : 
Blithe morning lifts his rosy eye. 
And evening's tears are tears of joy: 
My soul delightless, a' surveys, 
While Willie's far frae Logan braes. 

Within yon milk-white hawthorn 

bush, 
Amang her nestlings sits the thrush; 



Dare nought but stare. ^ Throes. 
1 Clouded and rainy. 



954 



BURNS' WORKS. 



Her faithfu' mate will share her toil, 
Or wi' his song her cares beguile: 
But I, wi' my sweet nurslings here, 
Nae mate to help, nae mute to cheer, 
Pass widow'd nights and joyless days 
While Willie's far frae Logan braes. 

Oh, wae upon you, men o' state, 
That brethren rouse to deadly hate ! 
As ye make mony a fond heart mourn, 
Sae may it on your heads return ! 
How can your tiinty hearts enjoy 
The widow's tears, the orphan's cry ? 
But soon may poace bring happy days 
And Willie hame to Logan braes ! 



THERE WAS A LASS, AND SHE 
WAS FAIR. 

Tune—" Bonny Jean." 

* I have just finished the following ballad," 
says the poet to Thomson, " and as I do 
think it is in my best style, I send it to 
you." ^ 

There was a lass, and she was fair. 
At kirk and market to be seen, 

When a' the fairest maids were met. 
The fairest maid was bonny Jean. 

And aye she wrought her mammie's 
wark. 

And aye sang sae merrilie: 
The blithest bird upon the bush 

Had ne'er a lighter heart tl^an she. 

But hav/ks will rob the tender joys 
That bless the little lintwhite's nest: 

And frost will blight the fairest Ho wers, 
And love will break the soundest 
rest. 

Young Robie was the brawest lad. 
The tiower and pride of a' the glen : 

And he had owsen, sheep and kye. 
And wanton naigies^ nine or ten. 

He gaed wi' Jeanie to the tryste,- 
He danced wi' Jeanie on the down; 

And, lang ere witless Jeanie wist. 
ETer heart was tiut,^ her peace was 
stown.^ 

As in the bosom o' the stream. 
The moonbeam dwells at dewy e'en; 



1 Horses. 



3 Loiit. 



•» Stolen. 



So trembling, pure, was tender love 
Within the breast o' bonny Jean. 

And now she works her mammie'a 
wark, 

And aye she sighs wi' care and pain, 
Yet wist na what her ail might be. 

Or what wad make her weel again. 

But did na Jeanie's heart loup light. 
And did na joy blink in her ee. 

As Robie tauld a tale o' love 
Ae e'euin on the lily lea ? 

The sun was sinking in the west. 
The birds sang sweet in ilka grove; 

His cheek to hers he fondly prest, 
And whisper'd thus his ttde o' love;— 

" O Jeanie fair, I lo'e thee dear; 

Oh, canst thou think to fancy me ? 
Or wilt thou leave thy mammie's cot. 

And learn to tent" tlie farms wi' me 1 

" At barn or byre thou shalt na drudge, 
Or naething else to trouble thee; 

But stray amang the heather-bells, 
And tent the waving corn wi' me. " 

Now what could artless Jeanie do ? 

She had nae will to say him na: 
At length she blush'd a sweet consent, 

And'^love was aye between them twa. 



PHH^LIS THE FAIR. 

Tune—" Robin Adair." 

W^HILE larks with little wing 

Fann'd the pure air, 
Tasting the breathing spring. 

Forth I did fare; 
Gay the sun's golden eye 
Peep'd o'er the mountains high; 
Such thy morn ! did I cry, 

Phillis the fair. 

In each bird's careless song 

Glad did I share; 
While yon wild flowers among, 

Chance led me there: 
Sweet to the opening day 
Rosebuds bent the dewy spray; 
Such thy bloom ! did I say, 

Phillis the fair. 



6 Mind. 



SONGS. 



255 



Down in r shady walk 
Doves cooing were: 

I mark'd the cruel liawk 
Caught in a snare; 

So kind may Fortune be, 

Such make his destiny ! 

He who would injure thee, 
Phillis the fair. 



HAD I A CAVE. 

Tune—" Robin Adair." 
Mr. Alaxand^ Cunningham, a writer to the 
St£-nc>i in Edinburgh, and a warm friend of 
the poet's, had wooed and, as he thought, 
won, a voung lady of great beauty and ac- 
compHshments ; but another lover having 
presented himself, with zveightier claims to 
her regard than poor Cunningham pos- 
sessed, 

" The fickle, faithless queen, 
Took the carl, and left her Johnnie ;" 

and appears to have cast him off with as 
little ceremony as she would a piece of 
faded frippery. The poet, in the following 
lines, has endeavoured to express the feel- 
ings of his friend on the occasion .— 

Had I a cave on some wild, distant 
shore, [dashing roar; 

Where the winds howl to the waves' 
There would I weep my woes, 
There seek my last repose, 
Till grief my eyes should 
close. 
Ne'er to wake more. 

Falsest of womankind, canst thou de- 
clare [as air! 
All thy fond plighted vows fleeting 
To thy new lover hie, 
Laugh o'er thy perjury. 
Then in thy bosom try 
What peace is there ! 



BY ALLAN STREAM I CHANCED 
TO ROVE. 

Tune—" Allan Water." 

In a letter to Thomson, dated August, 1793, 
enclosing this song, the poet "says: — ""I 
walked out yesterday evening with a vol- 
ume of the 'Musetim in my hand, when, 
turning up ' Allan Water,' as the words ap- 
peared to me rather unworthy of so fine an 
air, I sat and raved under the shade of an 
old thorn, till I wrote one to suit the meas- 
ure. I may be wrong, but I think it not in 



my worst Style. Bravo ! say I ; it is a good 
song. Autumn is my propitious season. I 
make more verses in it than all the year 
else." 

By Allan stream I chanced to rove, 

While Phoebus sank beyond Benledi; 
The winds were whispering through 
the grove. 

The yellow corn was waving ready: 
I listen'd to a lover's sang, 

And thought on youthfu' pleasures 
many; 
Aad aye the wild wood echoes rang — 

Oh, dearly do I love thee, Annie ! 

Oh, happy be the woodbine bower, 

Nae nightly bogle make it eerie;* 
Nor ever sorrow stain the hour. 

The place and time I met my dearie ! 
Her head upon my throbbing breast. 

She, sinking, said, "I'm thine for 
ever !" 
While mony a kiss the seal imprest, 

The sacred vow, — we ne'er should 
sever. 

The haunt o' Spring's the primrose 
brae, [low • 

The Simmer joys the flocks to fol- 
How cheery, through her shortening 
day, 
Is Autumn in her weeds o' yellow ! 
But can they melt the glowing heart, 
Or chain the soul in speechless 
pleasure, [dart, 

Or through each nerve the rapture 
Like meeting her, our bosom's treas- 
ure ? 



OH, WHISTLE, AND I'LL COME 

TO YOU, MY LAD. 

Tune—" Whistle, and I'll come to you, my 
lad." 

" The old air of ' Whistle, and I'll come to you, 
my Lad,' " says the poet to Thomson, " I 
admire very much, and yesterday I set the 
following verses to it :"— 

Oh, whistle and I'll come to you. my 
lad, [lad: 

Oh, whistle and I'll come to you, my 

Though father and mither and a' should 
gae mad, [lad. 

Oh, whistle, and I'll come to you, my 

1 Frightsome. 



2r.c 



BURNS' WORKS, 



But warily tent' whoii yoii come to 
court me, [a-jee; 

And come ua unless tlie back yetf- be 

Syne up the back stile, and let naebody 
see, 

And come as ye were na comin' to me. 

At kirk, or at market, whene'er ye 
meet me, [naaflie; 

Gang by me as tliougli that ye cared 

But "steal me a blink o' your bonny 
black ee, 

Yet look as ye were na looking at me. 

Aye vow and protest that ye care na 
for me, [a wee; 

And whiles ye may lightly^ my beauty 

But court na anither, though jokin' ye 
be, [me. 

For fear that she wile your fancy f rae 



ADOWN WINDING NITH. 

Tune — " The Mucking o' Geordie's Byre." 

Adown winding Nith did I wander, 
To mark the sweet flowers as they 
spring; 

Adown winding Nith I did wander, 
Of Phillis to muse and to sing. 

Awa' wi' your belles and your beau- 
ties, 

They never wi' her can compare: 
Whaever has met wi' my Phillis, 

Has met wi' the queen o' the fair. 

The daisy amused my fond fancy. 
So artless, so simple, so wild; 

Thou emblem, said I, o' my Phillis, 
For she is Simplicity's child. 

The rosebud's the blush o' my charmer, 
Her sweet balmy lip when 'tisprest: 

How fair and how pure is the lily, 
But fairer and purer her breast ! 

Yon knot of gay flowers in the arbour, 
They ne'er wi' my Phillis can vie: 

Her breath is the breath o' the wood- 
bine, 
Its dew-drop o' diamond her eye. 



Carefully heed. 2 Gate. ^ Disparage. 



Her voice is the song of the morning. 

That wakes through the green 

spreading grove, [tains. 

When Phoebus peeps over the moun- 
On music, and pleasure, and love. 

But beauty how frail and how fleeting. 
The bloom of a fine summer's day! 

While worth in the mind o' my Phillia 
Will flourish without a decay. 



COME, LET ME TAKE THEE 

Air—" Cauld Kail." 
Come, let me take thee to my breast, 

And pledge we ne'er shall sunder; 
And I shall spurn as vilest dust 

The warld's wealth and grandeur: 
And do I hear my Jeanie own 

That equal transports move her ? 
I ask for dearest life alone. 

That I may live to love her. 

Thus in my arms, ^vi' all thy charms 

I clasp my countless treasure ; 
I'll seek nae mair o' heaven to share 

Than sic a moment's pleasure: 
And by thy een, sae bonny blue, 

I swear I'm tl\ine forever! 
And on thy lips I seal my vow, 

And break it shall I never I 



DAINTY DAVIE. 

This is an improved version of a song whica 
the poet wrote some years before for tK,> 
Miiscujn, and which will be found at p. 222. 
The old song which furnished the air is said 
to have been composed on a somewhat 
indelicate incident that occurred in 
the life of the Rev. David Williamson, 
during the times of the Persecution in Scot- 
land. This worthy, it is affirmed, after 
having married seven wives, died minister 
of St.'Cuthbert's, Edinburgh. 

Now rosy May comes in wi' flowers. 
To deck her gay green-spreading bow- 
ers; 
And now comes in my happy hours 
To wander wi' my Davie. 

Meet me on the warlock knowe, 
Dainty Davie, dainty Davie; 

There I'll spend the day wi' you. 
My ain dear dainty Davie. 



SONGS. 



237 



The crystal waters round us fa', 
The merry birds are lovers a', 
The scented bveezes round us blaw, 
A- wandering wi' my Davie. 

When purple morning starts the liar?, 
To steal upon lic-r early fare. 
Then through the dews 1 vv-ill repair. 
To meet my faithf u' Davie. 

When day, expiring in the west, 
The curtain draws o' nature's rest, 
I Hce to his arms 1 lo'e best, 
And that's my ain dear Davie. 



BRUCE'S ADDRESS TO HIS ARMY 

AT BANNOCKBURN. 

Tune—" Hey, tuttie taitie." 

" There is a tradition," says the poet, in a 
letter to Thomson, enclosing this glorious 
ode, " that the old air, " Hey, tuttie taitie,' 
was Robert Bruce's march at liie battle of 
Bannockburn. This thought, in my solitary 
wanderings, has warmed me to a pitch of 
enthusiasm on the theme of liberty and in- 
dependence which I have thrown into a 
kind of Scottish ode, fitted to the air, that 
one might suppose to be the gallant Scot's 
address to his heroic followers on that event- 
ful morning." This ode, says Professor 
Wilson— the grandest out of the Bible— is 
sublime ! 

Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled, 
Scots, wham Bruce has often led; 
Welcome to your gory bed. 
Or to Victory! 

Now's the day, and now's the hour, 
See the front o' battle lour; 
See approach proud Edward's power — 
Chains and slavery! 

Wha will be a traitor knave ? 
Wha can fill a coward's grave ? 
Wha sae base as be a slave ? 
Let him turn and flee ! 

Wha, for Scotland's king and law, 
Freedom's sword will strongly draw; 
Freeman stand, or freeman fa'", 
Let him follow me ! 

By Oppression's woes and pains! 
By your sons in servile chains! 
We will drain our dearest veins, 
But they shall be free! 



Lay the proud usurpers low! 
Tyrants fall in every foe! 
Liberty's in every blow! — 
Let us do or die ! 



THOU HAST LEFT ME EVER, 

Tune — " Fee him, father." 

The poet, in sending these verses to Thomson, 
says :— " I do not give them for any merit 
they have. I composed them about the 
' back o' midnight,' and by the leeside of a 
bowl of punch, which had overset every 
mortal in company except the Muse." 

Thou hast left me ever, Jamie! 

Thou liast left me ever; 
Thou hast left me ever, Jamie! 

Thou hast left me ever. 
Aften hast thou vow'd that death 

Only should us sever; 
Now thou'st left thy lass for aye — 

I maun see the never, Jamie, 
I'll see the never! 

Thou hast me forsaken, Jamie! 

Thou hast me forsaken; 
Thou hast me forsaken, Jamie! 

Thou hast me forsaken. 
Thou canst love anither jo. 

While my heart is breaking: 
Soon my weary een I'll close — 

Never mair to waken, Jamie, 
Ne'er mair to waken! 



FAIR JENNY. 

Tune—" Saw ye my father.'' 

Where are the joys I have met in tho 
morning, 
That danced to the lark's early song? 
Where is the peace that awaited my 
wandering, 
At evening the wild woods among ? 

No more a- winding the course of yon 

river, [fair. 

And marking sweet flowerets S(> 

No more I trace the light footsteps ci 

pleasure. 

But sorrow and sad sighing care. 

Is it that Summer's forsaken our val- 
leys. 
And grim, surly Wiuter is near? 



BURL'S' WOKivS. 



No, no ! tlio bees humming round the 
gay roses 
Proclaim it the pride of the year. 

Fain would I hide what I fear to dis- 
cover, [known ; 
Yet long, long too well have I 
All that has caused this wreck in my 
bosom 
Is Jenny, fair Jenny alone. 

Time cannot aid me, my griefs are im- 
mortal, 
Nor hope dare a comfort bestow: 
Come then, enamour'd and fond of my 
anguish, 
Enjoyment I'll seek in my woe. 



DELUDED SWAIN, THE 
PLEASURE. 

Tune—" The Collier's Bonny Lassie." 
Deluded swain, the pleasure 

The fickle fair can give thee 
Is but a fairy treasure — 

Thy hopes will soon deceive thee. 

The billows on the ocean, 
The breezes idly roaming. 

The clouds uncertain motion — 
They are but types of woman. 

Oh ! art thou not ashamed 

To doat upon a feature ? 
If man thou wouldst be named, 

Despise the silly creature. 

Go, find an honest fellow; 

Good claret set before thee: 
Hold on till thou art mellow, 

And then to bed in glory. 



MY SPOUSE, NANCY. 

Tune—" My Jo, Janet." 

"Husband, husband, cease your strife, 

Nor longer idly rave, sir; 
Though I am your wedded wife, 

Yet I am not your slave, sir." 

*' One of two must still obey, 

Nancy, Nancy; 
Is it man, or woman, say, 
My spouse, Nancy?" 



** If 'tis still the lordiy word. 

Service and obedience; 
I'll desert my sovereign lord. 

And so, good-by allegiance 1" 

" Sad will I be so, bereft, 

Nancy, Nancy; 
Yet I'll try to make a shift. 

My spouse, Nancy." 

" ]\Iy poor heart then break it must. 

My last hour I'm near it; 
When you lay me in the dust. 

Think, think how you will bear it. 

" I will hope and trust in Heaven, 

Nancy, Nancy; 
Strength to bear it will be given. 

My spouse, Nancy." 

" Well, sir, from the silent dead. 
Still I'll try to daunt you; 

Ever round your midnight bed 
Horrid sprites shall haunt you.'* 

" I'll wed another, like my dear 

Nancy, Nancy; 
Then all hell will fly for fear. 

My spouse, Nancy." 



OH, WERE MY LOVE YON LILACJ 
FAIR. 

Tune—" Hughie Graham." 

The first two stanzas only of this song are by 
Burns ; the other two are old. 

Oh, were my love yon lilac fair, 
Wi' purple blossoms to the spring; 

And I a bird to shelter there. 

When wearied on my little wing; 

How I wad mourn, when it was torn. 
By autumn wild, and winter rude ! 

But I wad sing, on wanton wing, 
When youthfu' May its bloom 
renew'd. 

Oh, gin my love were yon red rose, 
That grows upon the castle wa'. 

And I mysel a drap o' dew. 
Into her bonny breast to fa' ! 

Oh ! there, beyond expression blest, 
I'd feast on beauty a' the night; 

Seal'd on her silk-saft faulds to rest. 
Till flev'd^ awa' by Phoebus' light ! 



Frightened. 



FiONGS. 



259 



THE LOVELY LASS OF INVER- 
NESS. 
Tune— "The Lass.of Inverness." 
The lovely lass of Iverness 

Xae joy nor pleasure can slie see; 
For e'en and morn she cries, alas ! 

And aye the saut tear blin's her ee; 
Drumossie Moor — Druniossie day — 

A waefu' day it was to me ! 
For there I lost my father dear, 

My father dear, and brethren three. 

Their winding-sheet the bluidy clay, 

Their graves are growing green to 
see; 
And by them lies the dearest lad 

That ever l)lest a Avoman's ee ! 
Now wae to thee, thou cruel lord, 

A bluidy man I trow thou be; 
For mony a heart thou hast made sair. 

That ne'er did wrang to thine or thee. 



^ 



A I?ED, FtED ROSE. 



Tune— " Graham's Strathspey." 
Orr, my luve's like a red, red rose, 

That's newly sprung in June: 
Oil, my luve's like the melodie 

That's sweetly play'd in tune. 

As fair art thou, my bonny lass, 

So deep in luve am I; 
And I will luve thee still, my dear, 

Till a' the seas gang dry. 

Till a' the seas gang dry, mj dear, 
And the rocks melt wi'the sun: 

I Avill luve thee still my dear. 
While the sands o' life shall run. 

And fare thee weel, my only luve! 

And fare thee weel a v/liile! 
A.nd I will come again, m.y luve. 

Though it were ten thousand mile. 



A VISION. 

The following lines were written amid the 
niinsof Lincluden Abbey, a favourite haunt 
of the poet's. He contributed a version 
somewhat different to the Scot's IMiisical 

]\Itiscum : — 

As I stood by yon roofless tower. 
Where the wa' - flower scents tlic 
dewj air, 



Where the howlet' mourns in her ivy- 
bo we i , 
And tells the midnight moon her 
care; 

The winds were laid, the air was still, 
The stars they shot along the sky; 

The fox was howling on the hill. 
And the distant -echoing glens reply» 

The stream adown its hazelly path. 
Was rushing by the ruin'd wa's, 

Hastening to join the weeping Nith, 
Whose distant roaring swells and 
fa's. 

The cauld blue North was streaming 
forth 

Her lights, wi' hissin', eerie din: 
Athort the lift they start and shift. 

Like Fortune's favours, tint'^ as win. 

By heedless chance I turn'd mine eyes. 
And by the moonbeam, shook to 
see 

A stern and stalwart, ghaist arise. 
Attired as minstrels wont to be. 

Had I a statue been o' stane. 

His daring look had daunted me; 

And on his bonnet graved was plain. 
The sacred posy — " Liberty!" 

And frae his harp sic strains did flow. 
Might roused the slumbering dead to 
hear; 

But, oh ! it was a tale of woe. 
As ever met a Briton's ear! 

He sang wi' joy the former day. 

He, weeping, wail'd his latter times; 

But what he said it was nae play, — 
I winna venture't in my rhymes. 



OUT OVER THE FORTH. 

Tune—" Charlie Gordon's Welcome Hame." 

Out over the Forth I look to the north, 
But what is the north and its High, 
lands to me ? [breast, 

The south nor the east gie ease to my 
The far foreign land, or the wild- 
rolling sea. 



1 Owl. 



- Lost. 



260 



BURNS' WOUKS. 



But I look to the west, when I gae to 

rest, [slumbers may be; 

That happy my dreams and my 

For far in the west lives he I lo'e best. 

The lad that is dear to my baby and 

me. 



JEANIE'S BOSOM. 

Tune—" Louis, what reck I by thee ?' 

Louis, what reck I by thee. 
Or Geordie on his ocean V 

Dyvor, ' beggar loons to me — 
I reign in Jeanie's bosom. 

Let her crown my ]ove her law, 
And in her breast enthrone me; 

King and nations — swith, awa' ! 
Keif -randies,'^ I disown ye! 



FOR THE SAKE OF SOMEBODY. 

Tune — " For the Sake of Somebody." 
My heart is sair — I dare na tell — 
My heart is sair for Somebody; 
I could wake a winter night 
For the sake o' Somebody. 
Oh-hon! for Somebody! 
Oh-hey! for Somebody! 
I could range the world around, 
For the sake o' Somebody ! 

Ye Powers that smile on virtuous love, 

Oh, sweetly smile on Somebody! 
Frae ilka danger keep him free. 
And send me safe my Somebody. 
Oh-hon! for Somebody! 
Oh-hey! for Somebody! 
I wad do — what wad I not ? 
For the sake o' Somebody! 



WILT THOU BE MY DEARIE. 

Air—" The Sutor's Dochter.' 
Wilt thou be my dearie ? 
When sorrow wrings thy gentle heart. 
Wilt thou let me cheer thee ? 
By the treasure of my soul, 
That's the love T bear thee! 
I swear and vow that f)nly thou 
Shall ever be my dearie. 

1 Bankrupt. ^ Thieviny bcyydis. 



Only thou, I swear and vow. 
Shall ever be my dearie. 

Lassie, say thou lo'es me; 
Or, if thou wilt na be my ain. 
Say na thou'lt refuse me: 
If it winna, canna be. 
Thou, for thme may choose me. 
Let me, lassie, quickly die. 
Trusting that thou lo'est me. 
Lassie, let me quickly die. 
Trusting that thou lo'es me. 



LOVELY POLLY STEWART. 

Tune—" Ye 're welcome, Charlie Stewart. * 

O Lovely Polly Stewart ! 

O charming Polly Stewart ! [May 
There's ne'er a flower that blooms in 

That's half so fair as thou art. 
The flower it blaws, it fades and fa's, 

And art can ne'er renew it; 
But worth and truth eternal youth 

Will gie to Polly Stewart. 

May he whose arms shall fauld thy 
charms 

Possess a leal and true heart; 
To him be given to ken the heaven 

He grasps in Polly Stewart ! 
lovely Polly Stewart ! 

O charming Polly Stewart ! [May 
There's ne'er a flower that blooms ia 

That's half so sweet as thou art. 



TO MARY. 

Tune—" At Setting Day." 

Could aught of song declare my pains. 

Could artful numbers move thee. 
The Muse should tell, in labour'd 
strains, 

Mary, how I love thee ! 
They who but feign a wounded heart 

May teach the lyre to languish; 
But what avails the pride of art. 

When wastes the soul with anguish ? 

Then let the sudden bursting sigh 
The lu'art-felt ]iang discover; 

And in the keen, yet tender eye. 
Oh, read th' imploring lover. 



SONGS. 



m 



For v,-;'!l I know tliy gentle mind 
Disdains art'? gay disguising; 

Beyond wliat fancy e'er refined, 
Tlie voice of nature prizing. 



WAE IS MY HEART. 

Tune — " Wae is my heart." 

W AE is my heart, and the tear's in my 

ee. 

Lang, lang, joy's been a stranger to me: 

Forsaken and friendless, my burden I 

bear, [sounds in my ear. 

A.nd the sweet voice of pity ne'er 

Love, thou hast pleasures, and deep 
hae 1 loved. [I proved; 

Love, thou hast sorrows, and sair hae 

But this bruised heart that now bleeds 
in my breast, [at rest. 

I can feel by its throbbiugs will soon be 

Oh, if I Avere, where happy I hae been, 
Down by yon stream and yon bonny 

castle-green; [on me. 

For there he is wandering, and musing 
VVha wad soon dry the tear frae his 

Pliillis' ee. 



HERE'S TO THT HEALTH, MY 

BONNY LASS. 

Tune—" Laggan Burn.'* 

Here's to thy health, my bonny lass, 

Gruid night and joy be wi' thee; 
I'll come nae mair to thy bower-door. 

To tell thee that I lo'e thee. 
Oh, dinna think, my pretty pink, 

But 1 can live without thee: 
i vow and swear 1 dinna care. 

How lang ye look about ye. 

1 iiou'rt aye sae free informing me 

Thou hast nae mind to many; 
111 be as free informing thee 

Nae time hae I to tarW. 
i ken thy friends try ilka means 

Frae wedlock to delay thee; 
Depending on some higher chance — 

But Fortune may betray thee. 

[ ken they scorn my low estate. 
But that does never grieve me; 

But I'm as free as any he, 
Sma' siller will relieve me. 



I'll count my health my greatest wealth, 

Sae lang as I'll enjoy it: 
I'll fear nae scant, I'll bode nae want, 

As lang's I get employment. 

But far-off fowls hae feathers fair, 

And aye until ye try them : [care. 
Though they seem fair, still have a 

They may prove waur than I am. 
But at twal at night, v/hen the moon 
shines bright. 

My dear, I'll come and see thee; 
For the man that lo'es his mistress 
weel, 

Nae travel makes him weary. 



ANNA, THY CHARMS. 

TuN'E — '' Bonny Mary." 

Anna, thy charms my bosom fire. 

And waste my soul with care; 
But ah ! how bootless to admire, 

When fated to despair ? 
Y^'et in thy presence, lovely fair. 

To hope may be forgiven; 
For sure 'twere impious to despair. 

So much in sight of heaven. 



MY LADY'S GOWN, THERE'S 
GAIRS UPON'T. 

Tune—" Gregg's Pipes." 

My lady's gown, there's gairs' upor/t. 
And gowden flowers sae rare upon't; 
But Jenny's jimps- and jirkinet,'^ 
My lord thinks meikle mair upon't. 

My lord a-hunting he is gane, 

But hounds orhav/ks wi'himarenane; 

By Colin's cottage lies his game. 

If Colin's Jenny be at hame. 

My lady's white, my lady's red. 
And kith and kin o' Cassiliis' blude; 
But her ten-pund lands o' tocher guid 
Were a' the charms his lordship lo'ed. 

Out o'er yon muir, out o'er yon moss, 
Whare gor-cocl?:s through the heather 

pass. 
There wons auld Colin's bonny lass, 
A lily in a wilderness. 



1 A triangular piece of cloth inserted at the 
bottom of a robe. ^ A kind of stays. ^ Bodice* 



BURNS' WOK KB. 



Sae SAveetly move her gentle limbs, 
Like music-notes o' lovers' hymns: 
The diamond dew in her een sae blue, 
Where laughing love sae wanton 
swims. 

My lady's dink/ my lady's drest, 
The tlower and fancy o' the west; 
But the lassie that a man lo'es best, 
Oh, that's the lass to mak him blest. 



JOCKEY'S TA'EN THE PARTING 
KISS. 

Tune—" Bonny Lassie, tak a Man." 
Jockey's ta'en the parting kiss, 

O'er the mountains he is gaue; 
And with him is a' luy hliss, 

Nought but griefs with me I'emain. 
Spare my luve, ye winds that blaw, 

Plasliy sleets and beating rain! 
Spare my lave, thou feathery snaw. 

Drifting o'er the frozen plain ! 

When the shades of evening creep 

O'er the day's fair gladsome ee, 
Sound and safely may he sleep. 

Sweetly blithe his waukening be ! 
He will think on her he loves, 

Fondly he'll repeat her name; 
For where'er he distant roves, 

Jockey's heart is still at hame. 



OH, LAY THY LOOF IN MINE, 

LASS. 
Tune—" Cordwainers' March." 
On, lay thy loof in mine, lass. 
In mine, lass, in mine, lass; 
And sv/ear on thy white liaud, lass, 
That thou wilt be my ain. 

A slave to love's unbounded sway, 
He aft has wrought me meikle wae; 
But now he is my deadly fae, 
Unless thou be my ain. 

There's mony a lass has broke my rest, 
That for a blink''* I hae lo'ed best; 
But thou art queen within my breast, 
Forever to remain. 



1 Palm. 



* Neat, trim. 

- Short space. 



Oh, lay thy loof in mine, lass. 
In mine, lass, in n^ine, lass; 
And swear on thy white hand, lass, 
That thou wilt be my ain. 



OH, M ALLY'S MEEK, MALLVS 
SWEET. 

As I was walkhig up the street, 
A bareiit maid I chanced to meet 

But oh, the road was very hard 
For that fair maiden's tender feet 

Oh, Mally's meek, Mally's sweet. 

Mally's modest and discreet, 
Mally's rare, Mally's fair, ^ 

Mally's every way complete. 

It were mair meet that those fine feet 
Were weel laced up in silken shodn. 

And 'twere more fit that she should sit 
Within yon chariot gilt aboon. 

Her yellow hair, beyond core, pa re, 
Comes trinkling down her ^wan lik.i 
neck; 
And her two eyes, like stars in skies, 
Would keep a sinking ship frao 
wreck. 



THE BANKS OF CREE. 

Tune—" The Banks of Cree." 

Lady Elizabeth Heron having composed an 
air eniitled " The Banks of Cree," in re- 
membrance of a beautiful and romantic 
stream of that name, " I have written,'' 
says the poet, " the following song to it, h> 
her ladyship is a particular friend of mine.'- 

Here is the glen, and here the bower. 

All underneath the birchen slia<i"; 
The village-bell has told the hour— 

Oh, what can stay my lovely nuiitl V 

'Tis not Maria's whispering call; 

'Tis not the balmy-breathing gale, 
Mixt with some warbler's dying tall. 

The dewy star of eve to liail. 

It is Maria's voice I hear! 

So calls the woodlark in the grove, 
His little faithful mate to clieer— 

At once 'tis music, and 'tis lov«. 



ROXOS. 



^G3 



And nrt tlmu come ? and art thou true? 

Oh, welcome, dear, to ioveand me! 
And let us all our vows renew 

Along the Howery banks of Cree. 



CX THE SEAS AND FAR AWAY. 

Tune—" O'er the hills and far away." 
How can my poor heart be glad, 
When absent from my sailor lad ? 
How can I the thought forego, 
He's on the seas to meet the foe ? 
Let me wander, let me rove, 
Still my heart is with my love: 
Xightly dreams, and thoughts by day, 
Are with him that's far away. 

On the seas and far away. 
On stormy seas and far away; 
Xightly dreams, and thoughts by 

day. 
Are aye with him that's far away. 

When in summer noon I faint, 
As weary flocks around me pant, 
Haply in the scorching sun 
My sailor's thundering at his gun: 
Bullets, spare my only joy ! 
Bullets, spare my darling boy ! 
Fate, do with me what you Loay — ■ 
Spare but him that's far away ! 

At the starless miidnight hour, [power. 
When winter rules v.ith boundless 
As the storms the forests tear. 
And thunders rend the howling air, 
Listening to the doubling roar. 
Surging on the rocky shore, 
All I can — I weep and pray. 
For his weal that's far away. 

Peace, thy olive wand extend, 

And bid wild War his ravage end, 

Man with brother man to meet, 

iVnd as a brother kindly greet: [gales 

Then may Heaven with prosperous 

Fill my sailor's welcome sails. 

To my arms their charge convey — 

My dear lad that's far away. 



CA' THE YOWES. 

This is an improved version, which the poet 
prepared for his friend Thomson, of a song- 
already given at p. 229. 



Ca' the yoNVPS to the kn(^wes 
Ca' them whare the heather grows, 
Ca' them whare tl^. burnie rowes, 
My bonny dearie ! 

Hark the mavis' evening sang 
Sounding Cluden's woods amang I 
Then a faulding let us gang, 
My bonny dearie. 

We'll gae down by Cluden side. 
Through the hazels spreading wide. 
O'er the waves that sweetly glide. 
To the moon sae clearly. 

Yonder Cluden's silent towers, 
\Vhere at moonshine midnight hourSj 
O'er the dewy bending flowers. 
Fairies dance sae cheery. 

Ghaist nor bogle shalt thou fear; 
Thou'rt to love and heaven sae dear, 
Nocht of ill may come thee near, 
My bonny dearie. 

Fair and lovely as thou art. 
Thou hast stown my very heart; 
I can die — but canna part — 
My bonny dearie ! 



SHE SAYS SHE LO'ES ME BEST 
OF A'. 

Tune—" Onagh's Waterfall." 
Sae flaxen were her ringlets, 

Her eyebrows of a darker hue, 
Bewitchingly o'er-arching 

Twa laughing een o' bonny blue. 
Her smiling sae wiling, 

Wad make a wretch forget his woe^ 
What pleasure, what treasure. 

Unto these rosy lips to grow ! 
Such was my Chloris' bonny face. 

When first her bonny face I saw; 
And aye my Chloris' dearest charm. 

She says she lo'es me best of a'. 

Like harmony her motion; 

Her pretty ankle is a spy. 
Betraying fair proportion. 

Wad mak a saint forget the sky. 
Sae warming, sae charming. 

Her fa.ultless form and gracefu' air; 
Hk feature — auld Nature 

Declared that she could do nae main 



234 



BURNS' WORKS. 



Hors are tlie willing chains o' love, 
By conquering beauty's sovereign 
law; 

And aye my Cliloris' dearest charm, 
She says she lo'es me best o' a'. 

Let others love the city, 

Aiid gaudy show at sunny noon; 
Gie me the lonely valley, 

The dewy eve, and rising moon; 
Fair beaming and streaming. 

Her silver light the boughs amang; 
While falling, recalling, [sang; 

The amourous thrush concludes his 
There, dearest (.'hloris, wilt thou rove 

By wimpling barn and leafy shaw, 
And hear my vows o' truth and love. 

And say thou lo'est me best of a'? 



THE LOVER'S MORNING SALUTE 
TO HIS MISTRESS. 

Tune—" Deil tak the wars." 

" Having- been out in the country dining with 
a friend," (Mr. Lorimer of Kemmis Hall,) 
says the poet in a letter to Thomson, " I 
met with a lady, (Mrs. Whelpdale— ' Chlo- 
ris,') and as usual got into song, and on re- 
turning home composed the following : — 

Sleep'st thou or wakest thou, fairest 
creature ? 
Rosy morn now lifts his eye, 

Numbering ilka bud which nature 
Waters wi' the tears 6' joy: 
Now through the leafy woods. 
And by the reeking floods, [stray. 

Wild nature's tenants, freely, gladly. 
The lintwhite in his bower 
Chants o'er the breathing flower;* 
The laverock to the sky 
Ascends wi' sangs o' joy, 

Wliile the sun and thou arise to bless 
the day. 

Phoebus, gilding the brow o' morning, 
Banishes ilk darksome shade. 



* Variation. — 

" Now to the streaming fountain, 
Or up the healthy mountain. 
The hart, hind, and roe, freely, wildly- 
wanton stray ; 
In twining hazel bowers 
His lay the linnet pours • 
The laverock to the sky, &c. 



Nature gladdening and adornin.'j; 
Such to me my lovely maid. 
When absent frae my fair. 
The murky shades o' care 

With start less gloom o'crcast my sul- 
len sky; 
But Avhen, in beauty's light, 
. She meets my ravish'd sight. 
When through my very heart 
Her beaming glories dart — [joy.f 

'Tis then I wake to life, to light, and. 



CHLORIS. 

Regarding the following lines, the poet says: 
— " Having been on a visit the other day to 
my fair Chloris — that is the poetic name of 
the lovely goddess of my inspiration — she 
suggested an idea, which, on my return 
home, I wrought into the following 
song:"— 

My Chloris, mark how green the 
groves. 

The primrose banks how fair; 
The balmy gales awake the flowers. 

And wave thy flaxen hair. 

The laverock shuns the palace gay. 

And o'er the cottage sings; 
For nature smiles as sweet, I ween, 

To shepherds as to kings. 

Let minstrels sweep the skilfu' string 

In lordly lighted ha': 
The shepherd stops his simple reed. 

Blithe, in the birken shaw. ^ 

The princely revel may survey 
Our rustic dance wi' scorn; 

But are their hearts as light as ours. 
Beneath the milk-white thorn ? 

The shepherd in the flowery glen. 
In shepherd's phrase will woo; 

The courtier tells a finer tale — 
But is his heart as true ? 



1 Birch- wood. 

t Var.— 

" When frae my Chloris parted, 
Sad, cheerless, broken-hearted, 
Then night's gloomy shades, cloudy, dark; 
o'ercast my sky ; 
But when she charms my sight, 
In pride of beauty's light: 
When through my very heart 
Her beaming glories dart, 
'Tis then, 'tis then I wake to life and 

joy." 



SONGS. 



2G5 



These wild-wood flowers I've pu'd, 
to deck 

Tliat spotless breast o' thine; 
The courtier's gems may witness love — 

But 'tisna love like mine. 



TO CHLORIS 

The following- lines, says the poet, were 
" written on the blank leaf of a copy of the 
last edition of my poems, and presented to 
the lady whom, with the most ardent senti- 
ments of real friendship, I have so often 
sang under the name of Chloris:"— 

Tis Friendship's pledge, my young, 
fair friend, 

Nor thou the gift refuse, 
Kor with unwilling ear attend 

The moralising Muse. 

Since thou, in all thy youth and 
charms. 

Must bid the world adieu, [arms,) 
(A world 'gainst peace in constant 

To join the friendly few; 

Since thy gay morn of life o'ercast, 
Chill came the tempests lower; 

(And ne'er misfortune's eastern blast 
Did nip a fairer flower;) 

Since life's gay scenes must charm no 
more. 

Still much is left behind; 
Still nobler wealth hast thou in store — 

The comforts of the mind ! 

Thhie is the self -approving glow 

On conciotis honour's part; 
And — dearest gift of Heaven below — 

Thine friendship's truest heart. 

The joys refined of sense and taste. 

With every Muse to rove: 
And doubly were the poet blest. 

These joys could he improve. 



AH, CHLORIS! 
Tune — " Major Graham." 
Ah, Chloris ! since it mayna be 

That thou of love wilt hear; 
If from the lover thou maun flee, 
Yet let the friend be dear. 

Although I love my Chloris nmir 
Thau ever tongue could tell: 



My passion I will ne'er declare, 
I'll say, I wish thee well. 

Though a' my daily care thou art. 
And a" my nightly dream, 

I'll hide the struggle in my heart. 
And say it is esteem. 



SAW YE MY PHELY? 

Tune — " When she cam ben she bobbit." 
Oh, saw ye my dear, my Pliely ? 
Oh, saw ye my dear, my Phely ? 
She's down i' the grove, she's wi' a 
new love. 

She winna come hame to her \'S'illy. 

What says she, my dearest, my Phely 1 

What says she, my dearest, my Phely'! 

She lets thee to wit that she has thee 

forgot. 

And for ever disowns thee, her Willy. 

Oh, had I ne'er seen thee, my Phely ! 
Oh, had I ne'er seen thee, my Phely ! 
As light as the air, and fause as thou's 
fair— [Willy. 

Thou's broken the heart o' thy 



HOW LONG AND DREARY IS 
THE NIGHT ! 
To a Gaelic Air. 
How long and dreary is the night. 

When I am frae my dearie ! 
I sleepless- lie frae e'en to morn. 

Though I were ne'er sae weary. 
I sleepless lie frae e'en to morn, 
Though I were ne'er sae weary. 

When I think on the happy days 
I spent wi' you, my dearie. 

And now what lands between us lie, 
How can I bo but eerie V 

And now what lands between us lie, 
How can I be but eerie ? 

How slow ye move, ye heavy hours, 
As ye were wae and weary ! 

It Avasna sae ye glinted'^ by 
When I was wi' my dearie. 

It wasna sae ye glinted by 
"When I was wi' my dearie. 



1 Lonely. 



2 Glided, 



BURNS' WORKS. 



IMPROVED VERSION. 

Tune—" Cauld Kail in Aberdeen," 
HoNV l(jiig and dreary is the night, 

When 1 am frae my dearie ! 
I restless lie frae e'en to morn, 

Though I were ne'er sae weary. 

For oh ! her lanely nights are lang; 

And oh, her dreams are eerie; 
And oh, her widow'd heart is sair, 

That's absent frae her dearie. 

VVlien I thinlv on the lights(mie days 
I spent wi' thee, my dearie; 

And now wliat seas between us roar- 
How can I be but eerie ? 

How slow ye move, ye heavy hours ! 

'i'lie joyless day how dreary ! 
\l .usna sae ye glinted by, 

W here 1 was wi' my dearie. 



LET NOT WOMAN E'ER COM- 
PLAIN. 

Tune—" Duncan Gray." 

" I have been at ' Duncan Gray,' says the poet 
to Thomson, " to dress it into English ; but 
all I can do is deplorably stupid. For in- 
stance :" — 

Let not woman e'er complain 

Of inconstancy in love; 
Let not woman e'er complain 

Fickle man is apt to rove: 
Look abroad through nature's range. 
Nature's mighty law is change; 
Ladies, v\^ould it not be strange, 

Man should then a monster jirove ? 

Mark the winds, and mark tlie skies; 

Ocean's ebb, and ocean's flow: 
Sun and moon but set to rise, 

Round and round the seasons go: 
Why then ask of silly man 
To oppose great Nature's plan ? 
We'll be constant while we can — 

You can be no more, vou know. 



THE CHARMING MONTH 01^^ MAY. 

The poctliaving jjiven the following English 
dress to an old Scotch ditty, says, in trans- 
mittint^ it to Thomson :— You may think 
meanly of this ; but if you saw the bombast 
of the origin.il yon woidd be surprised that 
I had made so much ot it." 



It was the charming month of May, 
When all the flowers were fresh and 

One morning by the break of day, 
The youthful, charming Chloe; 
From peaceful slumber she arose, 
Girt on her mantle and her hose, 
And o'er the flowery mead she goes, 
The youthful, charming Chloe. 

Lovely was she by the dawn, 

Yotithful Chloe, charming ChloGi 

Tripping o'er the pearly lawn, 
The youthful, charming Chloe. 

The feather'd people you might see 
Perch'd all around, on every tree. 
In notes of SAveetest melody. 

They hail the charming Chloe; 
Till painting gay tlu; eastern skies, 
The glorious sun began to rise, 
Out-rivall'd by the radiant eyes 

Of youthful, charming Chloe. 



LASSIE Wr THE LIN'T-WHITE 
LOCIvS. 

Tune—" Rothemurche's Rant. 

" This piece," saj's the poet, " has at least the 
merit of being a regular pastoral : the ver- 
nal morn, the summer noon, the autumnal 
evening, and the winter night, arc regular- 
ly rounded." 

Now nature deeds' the flowery lea, 
And a' is young and sweet like thee; 
Oh, wilt thou share its joy wi' me. 
And say thou'lt be my dearie, O ? 

Lassie wi' the lint- white locks, 
Bovmy lassie, artless lassie. 

Wilt thou wi' me tent- the flocks? 
Wilt thou be my dearie, O ? 

And when the "welcome simmer- 

shower 
Has cheer'd ilk drooping little flower. 
We'll to the l)reathing woodbine bovi^ei 
At sultry noon, my dearie, O. 

When Cynthia lights Avi' silver ray, 
The weary shearer'.s'^ hameward way: 
Throtigh yellow Avaving fields Ave'll 
strav, 
And talk o' love, my dearie, O. 



1 Clothes. " Tend. 3 Reapers 



PON(iS. 



IQl 



Arid when the howling wintry blast 
Disturbs my lassie's midnight rest; 
Enclasped to my t'aithfu' breast, 
I'll comfort thee, my dearie, O. 



FAREWELL. THOU STREAM. 

Tune—" Nancy's to the greenwood gane." 

rhissorg appears to be an improved version 
of the one entitled, "The last time I came 
o'er the moor," (p. 253- ) with the substitu- 
tion of the name Eliza for that of Maria. 
This change probably arose from the poet't 
quarrel with Mrs. Riddel having rendered 
her name distasteful to him. See the intro- 
duction to the song entitled, " Canst thou 
leave me thus, my Katy ?" in the following 
page. 

I'^AKEWELL, thou Stream that winding 
Hows 
Around Eliza's dwelling! 

Memory! spare the cruel throes 
Within my bosom swelling: 

('ondemn'd to drag a hopeless chain, 
And yet in secret languish; 

To feel a fire in every vein. 
Nor dare disclose my anguish. 

Love's veriest wretcn, unseen, un- 
known, 
I fain my griefs wouici cover; 
The bursting sigh, th' unweeting 
groan. 
Betray the hapless lover. 

1 know thou doom'st me to despair, 

Nor wilt, nor canst, relieve me; 
But oh, Eliza, hear one prayer — 
For pity's sake, forgive me! 

The music of thy voice I heard^ 

Nor wist while it enslaved me, 
I saw thine eyes, yet nothing fear'd, 

'Till fears no more had saved me: 
The unwary sailor thus aghast. 

The wheeling torrent viewing; 
Mid circling horrors sinks at last 

In overwhelming ruin. 



OH PHILLY, HAPPY BE THAT 
DAY. 

Tune—'' The Sow's Tail.' 
HE. 

Philly, happy be that day, 

When roving through the gather'd hay, 



My youth tti' heait was sto^vn away. 
And by thy charms, my Philly. 

SHE. 

Willy, aye I bless the grove 
Where I first own'd my maiden love. 
Whilst thou didst pledge the Powers 

above 
To be my ain dear Willy. 

HE. 

As songsters of the early year 
Are ilka day mair sweet to hear. 
So ilka day to me mair dear. 
And charming is my Philly. 

SHE. 

As on the brier the budding rose 
Still richer breathes and fairer blows, 
So in my tender bosom grows 
The love I bear my Willy. 

HE. 

The milder sun and bluer sky 
That crown my harvest cares wi' joy, 
\^'ero ne'er so welcome to my eye 
As is a sight o' Philly. 

SHE. 

The little swallow's wanton wing, 
Though wafting o'er the flowery 

spring. 
Did ne'er to me sic tidings bring 
As meeting o' my Willy. 

HE. 

The bee that through the sunny hour 
Sips nectar in the opening flower. 
Compared wi' my delight is poor. 
Upon the lips o' Philly, 

SHE. 

The Avocdbine in the dewj weet 
When evening shades in silence meet. 
Is noclit sae fragrant or sae sweet 
As is a kiss o' Willy. 

HE. 

Let Fortune's wheel at random rin. 
And fools may tyne, and knaves may 

win; 
My thoughts are a' bound up in ane, 
And that's my ain dear Philly. 

SHE. 

What's a' the joys that gowd can gie, 

1 carena wealth a single flie; 
The lad I love's the lad for me. 

And that's my ain dear Willy. 



208 



BURNS' WORKS. 



CONTENTED WI' LITTLE. 

Tune — " Lumps o' Pudding." 

This song is entitled to more than ordinary 
attention, as it appears the poet meant it 
for a personal sketch : for, in a letter to 
Thomson, thanking him for the present of a 
piccure of " The Cotter's Saturday Night," 
by David Allan, the lea ing pai- ler of the 
day, he says ;—" Ten t .ousaTid thanks for 
your elegant present. ... 1 have some 
thoughts of suggesting to you ;o prefix a 
vignette of me to my song, ' Contented wi' 
little, and cantie wi" mair,' in order that the 
portrait of my face, and the picture of viy 
jnitid, may go down the stream of time to- 
gether." 

Contented wi* little, and cantie^ yvV 
mair, • [care, 

Whene'er I forgather'^ wi' sorrow and 

I gie them a skelp,^ as they're creeping- 
alang, [Scottish sang. 

Wi' a cog o' guid swats,'* and an auld 

1 whiles claw the elbow o' troublesome 
thought; [faught; 

But man is a sodger, and life is a 

My mirth and guid humour are coin in 
my pouch, 

And my freedom's my lairdship nae 
monarch dare touch. 

A towmond^ o' trouble, should that 
be my fa', [it a'; 

A night o' guid-fellowship sowthers*^ 

When at the blithe end o' our journey 
at last, [lie has past ? 

Wha the deil ever thinks o' the road 

Blind Chance, let her snapper and 
stoyte" on her way; [jade gae;^ 

Be't to me, be't frae me, e'en let the 

Come ease or come travail; come pleas- 
ure or pain; [welcome again !" 

My warst ward is — "Welcome and 



CANST THOU LEAVE ME THUS, 
MY KATY? 

Tune—" Roy's Wife." 

This song, which the poet saj^s he composed 
in two or three turns across his little room, 
was meant as a representation of the kindly 
feelings which he now once more began to 
entertain for his former beautiful and fas- 
cinating friend, Mrs. Riddel of Woodley 



1 Happy. 2 Meet. 3 Whack. ■* Flagon of 
ale. •'■> Twelvemonth. « Solders. '' Stagger 



and stumble. « Slut go. 



Park. She replied to his song in a similar 
stram of poetic licence.* The poet, it will 
be observed, with the usual freedom of the 
sons of Apollo, addresses her as a mistress, 
and in that character she replies to him. 

Is this thy plighted, fond reward, 
Thus cruelly to part, my Katy V 

Is this thy faithful swain's regard — 
An aching, broken heart, my Katy ? 

Canst thou leave me thus, my Katy? 
Canst thou leave me thus, my Katy? 



* The following are the pieces which Mrs 
Riddel sent to the poet in reply to his song ;— 

Tune—" Roy's Wife. ' 

" Tell me that thou yet art true. 

And a' my wrongs shall be forgiven ; 
And when this heart proves fause to thee. 
Yon sun shall cease its course in heaven. 

" Stay, my Willie — yet believe me. 
Stay, my Willie — yet believe me. 
For, ah ! thou know'st na every pang [me. 
Wad wring my bosom, shouldst thou leave 

" But to think I was betray'd, [sunder ! 

That falsehood e'er our loves should 
To take the floweret to my breast. 
And find the guilefu' serpent under. 

" Could I hope thou'dst ne'er deceive. 

Celestial pleasures might I choose 'em, 
I'd slight, nor seek in other spheres 
That heaven I'd find within thy bosom. 
" Stay, my Willie — yet believe me, 
Stay, my Willie— yet believe me, 
For ah ! thou know'st na every pang 
Wad wring my bosom, should'st thou 
leave me." 



" To thee, loved Nith, thy gladsome plains, 

Where late with careless thought I ranged, 
Though prest with care, and sunk in woe, 

To thee I bring a heart unchanged. 
I love thee, Nith, thy banks and braes. 

Though Memory there my bosom tear. 
For there he roved that broke my heart. 

Yet to that heart, ah, still how dear ! 

" And now your banks and bonny braes 

But waken sad remembrance' smart ; 
The very shades I held most dear 

Now strike fresh anguish to my heart ; 
Deserted bower ! where are they now— 

Ah ! where the garlands that I wove 
With faithful care each morn to deck 

The altars of ungrateful love ? 

" The flowers of spring, how gay they bloom'd, 

When last with him I wander'd here ! 
The flowers of spring are pass'd away 

For wintry horrors, dark and drear. 
Yon osier'd stream, by whose lone banks 

My songs have lull'd him oft to rest. 
Is now in icy fetters lock'd — 

Cold as my false love's frozen breast." 



SONCi^S. 



269 



Well thou knowest my 

heart — 
Aud canst thou 



acliiiig 

[pity ! 

leave me thus for 



Farewell ! and ne'er such sorrows tear 
That fickle heart of thine, my Katy ! 

Thou mayst find those will love thee, 
dear — 
But not a love like mine, Katy ! 



WHA IS THAT AT MY BOWER- 
DOOR? 
Tune — '\Las3, an I come near thee." 

Wha is that at my bower-door? 

Oh, wha is it but Fiudlay ? 
Then gae yere gate, ' ye'se na be here ! — 

Indeed, maun I, quo' Findlay. 
What mak ye sae like a thief ? 

Oh J come and see, quo' Findlay; 
Before the morn ye'll work mischief — 

Indeed will I, quo' Findlay. 

Gif- I rise and let you in, — 

Let me in, quo' Findlay, 
Ye'll keep me waukin wi' your din — 

Indeed will I, quo' Findlay. 
In my bower if ye should stay, — • 

Let me stay, quo' Fiudhiy; 
I fear ye'll bide-^ till break o' day — 

Indeed will I, quo' Findlay, 

Here this night if ye remain, — 

I'll remain, quo' Findlay; 
I dread ye'll ken the gate again; — 

Indeed will I, quo' Findlay. 
What may pass within this bower, — 

Let it pass, quo' Fiudlay; 
Ye maun conceal till your last hour; — 

Indeed will I, quo' Findlay. 

THE CARDIN' O'T. 

Tune—" Salt-fish and Dumphngs." 
1 C'OFT^ a stane o' haslock' woo, 

To mak a coat to Johnny o't; 
For Johnny is my only jo,' 

I lo'e him best of ony yet. 

The cardin' o't, the spinnin' o't; 
The warpin' o't, the winnin' o't ; 



1 Wav. 



Remain. 



AVheu ilka ell cost me a groat. 
The tailor staw-^ the linin' o't. 

For though his locks be lyart gray. 
And though his brow be held aboonj 

Yet 1 hae seen him on a day 
The pride of a' the parishen. 



THE PIPER. 



A FRAGMENT. 



'B.->Tjg-ht. 2 Hai!;>e-lock— the wool from the 
throat— the finest of the fiock. 



There came a piper out o' Fife. 

I watna what they ca'd him; 
He play'd our cousin Kate a spring 

When fient a body bade him; 
And aye the mair he hotch'd and blew, 

The mair that she forbade him» 



JENNY M'CRAW. 

A FRAGMENT. 

Jenny M'Craw, she has ta'en to the 

heather, [her thither; 

Say, was it the Covenant carried 

Jenny M'Craw to the mountains is 

gaue, [a' she has ta'cn; 

Their leagues and their covenants 

My head and my heart now, quo' she, 

are at rest, [best. 

And as for the lave, let the deil do his 



THE LAST BR AW BRIDAL. 

A FRAGMENT. 

The last braw bridal that I was at, 

'Twas on a Hallowmas day, 
And there was routh' o' drirdi and fun. 

And mickle mirth and pla}-. [sang. 
The bells they rang, and tlie carlines- 

And the dames danced in the ha'; 
The bride went to bed wi' the silly 
bridegroom, 

In the midst o' her kimmers^ a'. 



LINES ON A MERRY 
PLOUGHMAN. 

As I was a wandering ae morning in 
spring. [sweetly to sinj^; 

merry plougliman s;iy 



I heard a 



3 Stole. 
1 Plenty. '-^ Old women. 



Women. 



270 



BURNS' WORKS. 



tliae words he 



And iib'lie was ami 

did say, 
Tlune's nae life like the ploughman's 

in the month o' sv\'eet May. 

The laverock in the morning slie'll rise 
trae her nest, [her breast; 

And mount in the air wi' the dew on 

And wi' the merry ploughman she'll 
whistle and sing; [back again. 

And at night she'll return to her nest 



THE WINTER OF LIFE. 

Tune— "Gil Morice." 
But lately seen in gladsome green, 

The w^oods rejoiced the day; 
Through gentle showers the laughing 
tiowers 

In double pride were gay: 
Bi'.i iiow our joys are fled 

Uu winter blasts awa' ! 
Yet maiden May in rich array, 

Again shall bring then a'. 

But my white powj nae kindly thowe,^ 

Shall melt the snaws of age; 
My trunk of eild,'^ but-* buss or bield'^ 

Sinks in Time's wintry rage. 
Oh ! age has weary days, 

And nights o' sleepless pain ! 
Tliou golden time o' youthfu' prime. 

Why comest thou not again ! 



I'LL AYE CA' IN BY YON TOWN. 

Tune—" I'll gae nae mair to yon town." 
I'jj. aye ca' in by yon town, 

And by yon garden green, again: 
I'll aye ca' in by yon town. 

And see my bonny Jean again. 

There's nane sail ken, there's nane sail 
guess, 

What brings me back tl-e gatc^ again; 
But she, my "fairest, faith fu' lass, 

And stowlins' we sail meet again. 

She'll wander by the aiken tree, 

When trystin'-time draws near again; 

And >vhen her lovely form I see, 
Oh, haith, she's doubly dear again ! 



I'll aye ca' in by yon town. 

And by yon garden green, again; 

I'll aye ca' in by yon town. 
And see my bonny Jean again. 



1 Hpad. 2 Thaw. ^ Aged trunk. * Without. 
» Shelter. 



THE GOWDEN LOCKS OF ANNA. 

Tune — " Banks of Banna." 

"A Dumfries maiden," says Cunningham, 
" with a light foot and a merry eye, was the 
heonne of this clever song. Burns thought 
so well of it himself that he recommended 
it to Thomson; but the latter— aware, per- 
haps, of the free character of her of the 
gowden locks, excluded it, though pressed 
to publish it by tli£ poet. Irritated, per- 
haps, at Thomson's refusal, he wrote the 
additional stanza, by way of postscript, in 
defiance of his colder-blooded critic." 

Yestreen I had a pint o' wine, 

A place where body saw na; 
Yestreen lay on this breast o' mine 

The gow den locks of Anna. 
The hungry Jew in wilderness. 

Rejoicing o'er his manna. 
Was naething to my hinny bliss 

Upon the lips of Anna. 

Ye monarchs tak the east and west, 

Frae Indtis to Savannah ! 
Gie me within my straining grasp 

The melting form of Anna. 
There I'll despise imperial charms, 

An empress or sultana, 
While dying raptures in her arms 

I give and take with Anna ! 

Awa', thou flaunting god o' day ! 

Awa', thou pale Diana ! 
Ilk star gae hide thy twinkling ray, 

When I'm to meet my Anna. 
Come, in thy raven ])lumage, Night ! 

Sun, moon, and stars withdrawn a', 
And bring an angel pen to write 

jMy transports wi' my Anna ! 



POSTSCRIPT. 

The kirk and state may join, and tell 

To do such things I niaunna: 
The kirk and state may gae to hell, 

And I'll gae to my Anna. 
She is the sunshine o' my ee, — 

To live but' her I canna; 
Had I on earth but wishes three, 

The first should be my Anna. 



Without. 



RON as. 



271 



HAL) I THE WYTE. 
Tune—'' Had I the wytc ?— she bade me." 
Had I the wyte/ liad I the wyte, 

Had I the wyte ?— she bade me; 
She watch'd nie by the hie^gate ;^ide, 

And up the loan she shaw'd me; 
And Avhen I wadna venture in, 

A coward loon she ca'd me; 
Had kirk and state been in tiie gate, 

I lighted when she bade me. 

iSae craftilie she took me ben,- 

And bade mo makenae clatter; [man 
"For our ramgunshoch, glum^ guid- 

Is o'er ayont the water;' 
Whae'er shall say I wanted grace, 

When I did kiss and dawt^ her, 
Let him be planted in my place. 

Syne say I was a fautor. 

Could I for shame, could I for shame, 

Could I for shame refused her? 
And wadna manhood been to blame 

Had 1 unkindly used her? 
He claw'd her wi' the ripplin-kame, 

And blae and bluidy bruised her; 
When sic a husband was fraehame. 

What wife but wad excused her ? 

I dighted^ aye her een sae blue, 

And baun'd the cruel randy ;^ 
A-ul weel I wat her willing mou' 

Was e'en like sugar candy. 
At gloauiin'-shot it was, I trow, 

I lighted on the -Monday; 
But 1 cam through the Tysday's dew. 

To wanton W^illie's brandy. 



CALEDONIA. 

Tune — " Caledonian Hunt's Delight." 

Tfere was once a day — but old Time 

then was young — [her line, 

That brave Caledonia, the chief of 

From some of your northern deities 

sprung, [donia's divine ?) 

(Who knows not that brave Cale- 

From Tweed to the Orcades was her 

domain, [she would: 

To hunt, or to pasture, or do what 

Her heavenly relations there fixed her 

reign. [warrant it good. 

And pledged her tlieir godheads to 



1 Blame. -In. ^ Rugged, soarse. * Fondle. 
''Wiped, ^^cold. 



A lambkhi m peace, but a lion in war. 
The pride of her kindred the heroine 
grew : [swore, 

Her graudsire, old Odin, triumphantly 
"Who e'er shall provoke thee tli" 
encounter shall rue!" 
With tillage or pasture at times she 
would sport, [rustling corn; 

To feed her fair Hocks by her green 
But chiefly the woods were her favour- 
ite resort, [and the horn. 
Her darling amusement the hound.^ 

Long quiet she reign'd; till thither- 
ward steers [strand, 
A flight of bold eagles from Adria's 
Repeated, successive, for many long 
years. 
They darken'd the air, and they 
pluuder'd the land: 
Their pounces were murder, and terror 
tlieir cry, [beside; 
They'd conquer'd and ruin'd a world 
She took to her hills, and her arrow,; 
let fly— [died. 
The daring invaders they fled or they 

The fell harpy-raven took wing from 

the north, 

The scourge of the seas, and the 

dread of tlie shore! 

The wild Scandinavian boar issued 

forth [in gore; 

To wanton in carnage, and wallow 

O'er countries and kingdoms tlieir fury 

prevail'd, [could repel; 

No arts could appease them, no arms 

But brave Caledonia in vain they as- 

sail'd, [cartie tell. 

As Largs well can witness, and Lon- 

The Cameleon - savage disturb'd her 

repose, [strife: 

With tumult, disquiet, rebellion and 

Provoked beyond bearing, at last she 

arose, [and his life: 

And robb'd him at once of his hopes 

The Anglian lion, the terror of France, 

Oft "prowling, ensanguined the 

Tw-eed's silver flood: [lance, 

But, taught by the bright Caledonian 

He learn'd to fear in his own native 

wood. 

Thus bold, independent, unconquer'd, 

and free, [shall run: 



H-r bri"- 



■ivAp <){' p'lory f^ 



BURNS' WORKS. 



For brave Caledonia immortal must be; 
I'll prove it from Euclid as clear as 
the sun: 

Rcctang-le-triangle, the fii^ure we'll 
choose, 
The upright is Chance, and old 
Time is the base; 
But brave Caledonia's the hypothenuse : 
Then, ergo, she'll match them, and 
match them always. 



THE FAREWELL. 

Tune—" It was a' for our rightfu' king." 

It was a' for our rightfu' king 
We left fair Scotland's strand; 

It was a' for our rightfu' king 
We e'er saw Irish land, my dear, 
Vv e e'er saw Irish land. 

Now a' is done that men can do. 
And a' is done in vain; 

My love and native land farewell, 
For I maun cross the main, my dear, 
For I man i cross the main. 

He turn'd him right and round about, 

Upon the Irish shore: 
And gae his bridle-reins a shake. 

With adieu for evermore, my dear, 

With adieu for evermore. 

The sodger frae the wars returns, 

The sailor frae the main ; 
But I hae parted frae my love, 

Never to meet again, my dear, 

Never to meet again. 

Wlien day is gane, and night is come. 
And a' folk bound to sleep; 

I think on him that's far awa', [dear. 
The lee-lang night, and weep, my 
The lee-lang night, and weep. 



OH, STEER HER UP. 

Tune — " Oh, steer her up and haud her 
gaun." 

Oh, steer' her up and haud her gaun- 
Her mither's at the mill, jo; 

xind gin she winna tak a man. 
E'en let her tak her will, jo: 

1 Stir. 



First shore^ her wi' a kindly Idss, 

And ca' anither gill, jo; 
And gin she tak tlu; thing amiss. 

E'en let her tiyte'' her fill, jo. 

Oh, steer her up, and be na blate,* 

And giu she tak it ill, jo, 
Then iea'c the lassie till her fate. 

And time na langer spill, jo: 
Ne'er break your heart for ae rebute,* 

But think upon it still, jo; 
Til at gin the lassie Avinua do't, 

Ye'il fin' anither will, jo. 



BONNY PEG-A-RAMSAY. 

Tune — " Cauld is the e'enin' blast.' 
Caui.d is the e'enin' blast 

O' Boreas o'er the pool; 
And dawin' it is dreary 

When birks are bare at Yule. 

Oh, cauld blaws the e'enin' blast 
When bitter bites the frost. 

And in the mirk and dreary drift 
The hills and glens are lost. 

Ne'er sae murky blew the night 
That drifted o'er the hill. 

But bonny Peg-a-Ramsay 
Gat ^rrist to her mill. 



HEE BALOU ! 

Tune—" The Highland Balou." 

Concerning this song, Cromek says : — " The 
time when the moss-troopers and cattle • 
drivers on the Borders began their nightly 
depredations was the first Michaelmas 
moon. Cattle-stealing formerly was a mere 
foraging expedition ; and it has been re- 
marked that many of the best families in 
the north can trace their descent from the 
daring sons of the mountains. The produce 
(by way of dovvry to a laird's daughter) of a 
Michaelmas moon is proverbial ; and by the 
aid of Lochiel's lanthorn (the moon) these 
exploits were the most desirable things im- 
aginable. In the ' Hee Balou' we see one 
of those heroes in the cradle." 

Hee balou !' my sweet wee Donald, 
Picture o' the great Clanronald; 
Brawlie kens our wanton chief 
Wha got my young Highland thief. 



2 Try. 3 Scold. -J Bashful. & Rebuke. 
1 A cradle-lullaby phrase used by nurse*. 



SONGS. 



273 



Leeze me on thy bonny craigie, 
An tlioii live, thou'lt steal a naigie: 
Travel the country through and 

through. 
And brmg hame a Carlisle cow. 

Through the Lawlands, o'er the Bor- 
der, 
Weel, my baby, may thou furder:- 
Hcrry^ the loans o' the laigh countrie, 
Syue to the Highlands, hame to me. 



HERE'S HIS HEALTH IN WATER. 

Tune—" The Job of Tourneywork." 
Although my back be at the wa', 

And though he be the fautor; 
Although my back be at the wa', 

Yet, here's his health in water ! 

Oh- ! wae gae by his wanton sides, 

Sae brawlie's he could flatter; 
Till for his sake I'm slighted sair. 

And dree' the kintra clatter. ^ 
But thougli.my back be at the wa', 

And though he be the fautor; 
But though my back be at the wa'. 

Yet, here's his health in water ! 



AJVIANG THE TREES, WHERE 
HUMMING BEES. 

TwNE— " The king of France, he rode a race. " 
Amang the trees, where humming 
bees [0, 

At buds and flowers were hinging, 
Auld Caledon drew out her di'one, 
And to her pipe was singing, O; 
'Twas pibroch, sang, strathspey, or 
reels, 
She dirl'd them aff fu' clearly, O, 
When there cam a yell o' foreign 
squeels. 
That dang her tapsalteerie, ' O. 

Their capon craws, and queer ha ha's, 
They made our lugs- grow eerie,' 0; 

The hungry bike"* did scrape and pike,^ 
Till we were wae and weary, 0; 



2 Prosper. 3 plunder. 

1 Bear. 2 Country talk. 

^ Topsy-furvey, 2 Ears. ^ Weary. ■* Band. 
^ Pick. 



But a royal ghaist,^ wha ance was cased 
A prisoner aughteen year awa'. 

He fired a fiddler in the north 
That dang them tapsalteerie, O. 



CASSILLIS' BANKS. 
Tune — Unknown. 
Now bank and brae are claithed in 
green, 
And scatter'd cowslips sweetly spring; 
By Girvan's fairy -haunted stream 
The birdies flit on wanton wing. 
To Cassillis' banks, when e'ening fa's. 

There, wi' my Mary, let me flee. 
There catch her ilka glance of love, 
The bonny blink o' Mary's ee! 

The cliield wha boasts o' warld's ^Yalth 

Is aften laird o' meikle care; 
But Mary, she is a' mine ain — 

Ah! Fortune canna gie me mair! 
Then let me range by Cassillis' banks, 

Wi' her, the lassie dear to me. 
And catch her ilka glance o' lovo. 

The bonny blink o' Mary's ee! 



BANNOCKS 0' BARLET. 

Tune—" The Killogie." 
Bannocks o' bear-meal, 

Bannocks o' barley; 
Here's to the Highlandman's 

Bannocks o' barley ! 
Wha in abrulzie,^ 

Will first cry a parley ? 
Never the lads wi' 

The bannocks o' barley! 

Bannocks o' bear-meal. 

Bannocks o' barley; 
Here's to the Highlandman's 

Bannocks o' barley! 
Wha, in his wae-days, 

Were loyal to Charlie ? 
Wha but the lads wi' 

The bannocks o' barley ? 



Oh 



SAE FAR AWA'. 

Tune—" Dalkeith Maiden Bridg^e. 
sad and heavy should I part. 



But for her sake sae far awa' ; 



« Ghost. 



Broil. 



27^ 



BURNS' WOIJKS. 



Unknowing what my way may thwart , 
My native land, sae far awa'. 

Thou that of a' things Maker art, 
That t'orm'd this lair sue far awa', 

Gie body strength, then I'll ne'er start 
At this, my way, sae far awa'. 

How true is love to pure desert. 

So love to her sae far awa' ■ 
And nocht can heal my l^osom's smart 

While, oh ! she is sae far awa', 
Nane other love, nano other dart, 

I feel but hers, sae far awa'; 
But fairer never touch'd a heart 

Than hers, the fair, sae far awa'. 



HER FLOWING LOCKS. 

Tune— Unknown. 

Heb flowing locks, the raven's wing, 
Adown her neck and bosom hing.; 
How sweet unto that breast to cling, 
And round that neck entwine her ! 

Her lips are roses wat wi' dew, 
Oh what a feast her bonny mou' ! 
Her cheeks a mair celestial hue, 
A crimson still diviner. 



THE HIGHLAND LADDIE. 

Tune—" If thou'lt play me fair play." 

The bonniest lad that e'er I saw, 

Bonny laddie, Highland laddie, 
Wore a plaid, and was f u' braw, 

Bonny Highland laddie. 
On his iiead a bonnet l^lue. 

Bonny laddie, Highland laddie ; 
His royal heart was firm and true, 

Bonny Highland laddie. 

Trumpets sound, and cannons roar, 

Bonny lassie, Lowland lassie; 
And a' the hills wi' echoes roar, 

Bonny Lowland lassie. 
Glory, honour, now invite, 

Bonny lassie, Lowland lassie. 
For freedom and my king to fight. 

Bonny Lowland lassie. 

The sun a backward course shall take, 
Bonnie laddie. Highland laddie, 

Ere aught thy manly courage shake, 
Bonny Highland laddie. 



Go ! for yoursel })rocure renown.. 

Bonny laddie. Highland laddie; 
And for your lawful king his crown, 

Bonny Highland Laddie. 



THE LASS THAT MADE THE BED 
TO ME. 

Tune—" The lass that made the bed to me. ' 

The poet, in his notes to the Museuviy sajs 
regarding this song :— " ' The bonny lass 
that made the bed to me' was composed on 
an amour of Charles II., when skulking in 
the north about Aberdeen, in the time of 
the usurpation. He formed une pctiie 
affaire with a daughter of the house c-f 
Port Letham, who was the lass that made 
the bed to him !" 

When Januar' wind was blawing 
cauld. 

As to the north T took my way. 
The mirksome' night did me enfauld, 

I knew na where to lodge till day. 

By my good luck a maid I met, 
Just in the middle o' my care; 

And kindly she did me invite 
To walk into a chamber fair. 

I bow'd fu' low unto this maid, 
And tliank'd her for her cour4esie; 

I bow'd fu' low unto this maid, 
And bade her make a bed for me. 

She made the bed baith large and wide, 
Wi' twa white hands she spread it 
down. 
She put the cup to her rosy lips, 

And drank, " Young man, now sleep 
ye soun'." 

She snatch'd the candle in her hand, 
And frae ray chamber went wi' speed; 

But I call'd her quickly back again. 
To lay some mair below my head. 

A cod she laid below my head. 
And served me wi' due respect; 

And, to salute her wi' a kiss, 
I put my arms about her neck. 

" Hand off your hands, young man,' 
she says. 

" And dinna sae uncivil be: 
Gi'f ye hae ony love for me, 

Oil, wrangna my virginitie 1" 



1 Darksome. 



SONGS. 



Her hair wiws like the links o' gowd. 
Her teetli were like the ivorie; 

Her cheeks like lilies dipt in wine. 
The lass that made the bed to me. 

Her bosom v/as the driven snaw, 
Twa drifted heaps sae fair to see; 

Her limbs the polish'd marble stane, 
The lass that made the bed to me. 

I kiss'd herowre and owre again, 
And aye she wist na what to say; 

I laid her between me and the wa' — 
The lassie thought na lang till day. 

Upon the morrow, when we rose, 
I thank'd her for her courtesie; 

Butayesheblush'd, and ayeshesigh'd, 
And said, "Alas! ye've ruin'd me." 

I clasp'd her waist, and kiss'd her 
syne, 
While the tear stood twinkling in 
her ee ; 
I said, *• My lassie, dinna cry, 

For ye aye shall makthe bed tome." 

She took her mither's Holland slieets, 
And made them a' in sarks to me; 

Blithe and merry may she be, 
The lass that made the bed to me. 

The bonny lass made the bed to me, 
The braw lass made the bed to me; 

I'll ne'er forget, till the day I die, 
The lass that made the bed to me 1 



THE LASS OF ECCLEFECHAN. 

Tune—"' Jacky Latin." 

Gat ye me, oh, gat ye me, 

Oh, gat ye me wi' naething? 
Rock and reel, andspinnin' wheel, 

A mickle quarter basin. 
Bye attour,,' my gutcher- has 

A heigh house and a laigli ane, 
A' forbye ray bonny sel, 

The toss of Ecclefeciian. 



01 



tongue now, Luckie 



haud your 
Laing, 
Oh, haud your tongue and jauner;^ 
I held the gate till you I met, 
Syne I began to wander; 

1 Besides. 2 Grandsire. '^ Comolaining. 



I tint-* my whistle and my sang, 
1 tint my peace and pleasure; 

But your green graff^ now. Luckie 
Laing, 
Wad airf^ me to my treasure. 



THE COOPER 0' CUDDIE. 

Tune—" Bob at the Bowster." 

The cooper o' Cuddie cam here awa': 
He ca'd the girrs* out owre us a' — ■ 

And our guidwife has gotten a ca' 
That anger'd the silly guidman, O. 

We'll hide the cooper behind the 

door. 
Behind the door, behind the door. 
We'll hide the cooper behind the 

door, [O. 

And cover him under a mawn,- 

He sought them out, he sought them 

in, 
Wi'. Deil hae her! and, Deil liae him ! 
But the body he was sae doited^ and 

blin , 
He wistna where he was gaun, O. 

They cooper'd at e'en, they cooper'd at' 

morn. 
Till our guidman has gotten the scorn. 
On ilka brow she's planted a horn, 
And swears that there they shall 

Stan', O. 



THE HIGHLAND WIDOW^'S LA- 
MENT. 

On ! I am come to the low countrie 

Ocli-on, och-on, och-rie ! 
Without a penny in my purse 

To buy a meal to me. 

It wasna sae in the Highland hills, 

Och-on, och-on, och-rie ! 
Nae woman in the country wide 

Sae happy was as me. 

For then I had a score o' kye, 

Och-on, och-on, och-rie ! 
Feeding on yon hills so high, 

And giving milk to me. 



* Lost. 



Hoops. 



^ Grave. 
2 Basket. 



« Direct. 
Stupid. 



276 



BURNS' WORKS. 



And there I had threescore o' yowes- 

Och-on, och-on, och-rie ! 
Skipping on yon bonny knowes, 

And casting woo' to me. 

I was the happiest of a' the clan, 

t>air, sair may I repine; 
For Donald was the bra west man, 

And Donald he was mine. 

Till Charlie Stuart cam at last, 

Sae far to set us free; 
^ly Donald's arm was wanted then 

For Scotland and for me. 

Their waef u' fate what need I tell 1 
Right to the wrang did yield: 

My Donald and his country fell 
Upon Culloden field. 

Och-on, Donald, oh ! 

Och-on, och-on, och-rie ! 
Nae woman in the warld wide 

Sae wretched now as me. 



THERE WAS A BONNY LASS. 

There was a bonny lass, 

And a bonny, bonny lass, 
And she lo'ed her bonny laddie dear; 

Till war's loud alarms 

Tore her laddie f rae her arms, 
Wi' mony a sigh and a tear. 

Over sea, over shore. 

Where the cannons loudly roar, 
He still was a stranger to fear; 

And nocht could him quail. 

Or his bosom assail. 
But the bonny lass he lo'ed sae dear. 



OH 



WAT YE WHAT MY MINNIE 
DID? 



Oh, wat ye what my minnie did. 

My minnie did, my minnie did; 
Oh, wat ye what my minnie did, 

On Tvsday 'teen to me, jo ? 
She laid me in a saft bed, 

A saft bed, a saft bed, 
She laid me in a saft bed. 

And bade guid e'en to me, jo. 

And wat ye what tlie parson did. 
The parson did, the parson did, 



And wat ye what the parson did, 

A' for a penny fee, jo ? 
He loosed on me a lang man, 

A mickle man, a Strang man, 
He ]oos(.'d on me a lang man, 

That might hae worried me, ja 

And I was but a young thing, 

A young thing, a young thing. 
And 1 was but a young thing, 



W 



1 nane to pity me, jo. 



I ^vat the kirk was in the wyte,* 
In the wyte, in the wyte, 

To x)it a young thing in a fright. 
And loose a man on me, jo. 



OH, GUID ALE COME^ 

CHORUS. 

Of, <2^uid ale comes, and guid ale goesr, 
Guid ale gars^ me sell my hose, 
Sell my hose, and pawn my slioou^ 
Guid ale kee^^s my heart aboon. 

I had sax owsen in a pleugli. 
They drt^w a' weeleneugh; 
I sell'd them a' iust ane by ane; 
Guid ale keeps mj heart aboon; 

Guid ale hands mo hsv<^ and busy. 
Gars me moop"^ wi' tne soi^vaj^t hizzie,' 
Stand i' the stool when I hae done; 
Guid ale keeps my heavt j^boon. 



COMING THROUGH THE BRAES 
O' CUPAR. 

Donald Brodie met a lass 

Coming o'er the braes o' Cupa^ 

Donald, wi' his Highland hand. 
Rilled ilka charm about her. 



CHORUS. 

Coming o'er the braes o' Cupar, 
Coming o'er the braes o' Cupar, 
Highland Donald met a lass, 
And row'd his Highland plaid 
about her. 



1 Makes. 



Blame. 
Romp. 



' Wench. 



SONGS. 



277 



VVfH'i j ••.■•It she was a quean, 

W;ul made a body's mouth to water; 
Our Mess John, wi' his auld gray pow/ 

His ha- Y lip« wad licket at her. 

Off she started in a fright, [bicker ;2 
And through the braes as she could 

But souple Donald quicker flew, 

And in his arms he lock'd her sicker. ^ 



GTJID E'EN TO YOU, KIMMER. 

Tune — •' We're a' noddin." 

GuiD e'en to you, kimmer,* 

And how do ye do ? 
Hiccup, quo' kimmer, 

The better that I'm fou. 
We're a' noddin, nid, 



We're a' 
hame. 



[din, 
nid, nod- 
noddin at our house at 



Kate sits i' the neuk,^ 

Suppin' hen broo;-^ 
Deil tak Kate, 

An she be na noddin tool 

How's a' wi' you, kimmer. 

And how do ye fare ? 
A pint o' the best o't, 

And twa pints mair. 

How's a' wi' you, kimmer. 

And how do ye thrive? 
How mony bairns liae ye? 

Quo' kimmer, I hae liva 

Are they a' Johnny's ? 

Eh! atweel, na: 
Twa o' them were gotten a 

When Johnny was awa*. 

Cats like milk. 

And dogs like broo, 
Lads like lasses weel. 
And lasses lads too. [din. 

We're a' noddin, nid, nid, nod- 
We're a' noddin at our house at 
hame. 



MEG O' THE MILL. 
Tune — " Jackie Hume's Lament." 

This second version of" Me^- o' the Mill," (p 
252.) prepared by the poet for the Museufttt 
was founded on an old ditty, which he al- 
tered and amended. 

Oh, ken ye what Meg o' the Mill has 
gotten, [gotten ? 

And ken ye what ^.leg o' the Mill has 

A braw new naig^ wi' the tail o' a rot- 
tan, [gotten ! 

And that's what Meg o' the Mill has 

Oh. ken ye what Meg o' the Mill lo'es 
dearly ? [dearly ? 

And ken ye what Meg o' the Mill lo'es 

A dram o' guid strunt'^ in a morning- 
early, [dearly. 

And that's what Meg o' the ]SIill lo'es 

Oh, ken ye how Meg o' the Mill was 
married, [married ? 

And ken ye how Meg o' the Mill was 

The priest ho was oxter'd, the clerk he 
■was carried, [married. 

And that's how Meg o' the JMill was 

Oh, ken ye how Meg o' the Mill was 
bedded, [bedded? 

And ken ye how Meg o' the Mill was 

The groom gat sae fou,^ he fell twa- 
fauld beside it, [bedded. 

And that's how Meg o' the Mill was 



» Head. 

iLas3 



2 Run. 
2 Comer. 



Sure. 



Broth. 



YOUNG JA^IIE PRIDE OF A' THE 
PLAIN. 

Tune — " The Carlin o' the Glen." 

Young Jamie, pride of a' the plain, 
Sae gallant and sae gay a swain; 
Through a' our lasses he did rove, 
And reign'd resistless king of love: 
But now, wi* sighs and starting tears, 
He strays among the woods and briers; 
Or in the glens and rocky caves, 
His sad complaining dowie^ raves: 

" I wha sae late did range and rove, 
And changed with every moon my love, 
I little thought the time was near 
Repentance I .should buy sae dear: 

1 A nding-horse. - Whisky. ^ Drunk, 
i .Sadly. 



2;>? 



BURNS' WORKS. 



The flighted maids uiy torments see, 
And laugli at a' the pangs I dree;^ 
Whihi slie, my cruel, scornfu' fair, 
Forbids me e'er to see hermair 1" 



COiMING THROUGH THE RYE. 

Tune — " Coining through the rye." 

Coming through th(.' rye, poor body, 

Coming through the rye. 
She draigk^t' a' her p(^tticoatie, 

Coming through tlie rye. 

O Jenny's a' v-tit, poor body, 
Jenny's seldom dry; 

She draiglet a' her petticoatie. 
Coming through the rye. 

Gin- a body meet a body 

Coming through the rye; 
Gin a body kiss a body — 

Need a body cry ? 

Gin a body meet a body 
Coining through the glen; 

Gin a body kiss a body — 
Need the warld ken ? 



THE CARLES OF DYSART. 

Tune—" Hey, ca' through." 

Ui' wi' the carles' o' Dysavt 
And the lads o' Buckhaven, 

And the kimniers'^ o' Largo, 
And the lasses o' Leven. 

Hey, ca' through, ca'-^ through, 
For we hae mickle ado; 

Hey, ca' through, ca' through, 
For we hae mickle ado. 

We hae tales to tell, 

And we hae sangs to sing; 

We hae pennies to spend, 
And we hae pints to bring. 

We'll live a' our days, 

And them that come behin', 

Let them do the like, 

And spend the gear they win. 



2 Suffer. 
Soiled, bespattered. 
1 Men. " Women. 



2 If. 



Push. 



IS THERE, FOR HONEST 
POVERTY. 

Tune — " For a' that and a' that." 

Of the following song — one of the most strik- 
ing and characteristic effusions of his Muse 
— he says, evidently in a strain of affected 
depreciation :— " A great critic on songs 
says that love and wine are the exclusive 
themes for song--writing. The following is 
on neither subject, and is consequently no 
song; but will be allowed, I think, to be 
two or three pretty good prose thoughts 
inverted into rhyme." 

Is there, for honest poverty, 

That hangs his head, and a' that V 
The coward slave, we pass him by, 

We dare be poor for a' that ! 
For a' that, and a' that; 

Our toils obscure, and a' that; 
The rank is but the guinea-stamp, 

The man's the gowd for a' that. 

What though onhamely fare we dine. 

Wear hodden gray and a' that; 
Gie fools their silks, and knaves their 
wine, 

A man's a man for a' that ! 
For a' that, and a' that. 

Their tinsel show, and a' that; 
The honest man, though e'er sae poor. 

Is king o' men for a' that ! 

Ye see yon birlde,* ca'd a lord, 

Wlia struts, and stares, and a' that; 
Tliough hundreds worship at his word. 

He's but a coof^ fora' that: 
For a' that, and a' that. 

His riband, star, and a' that; 
The man of independent mind, 

He looks and laughs at a' that ! 

A king can mak a belted knight, 

A marquis, duke, and a' that; 
But an lionest man's aboon his might, 

Guid faith he maunna"^ fa' that! 
For a' that, and a' that. 

Their dignities, and a' that, 
The pith o' sense, and pride o' worth, 

Are higher ranks than a' that. 



1 Fool. - " He maunna fa' that"— he must 
not try that. 

* Primarily, the word signifies a lively, 
mettlesome young fellow ; but here the poet's 
meaning would be better rendered by the 
words—a proud, -ffp; ted person. 



SONGS 



279 



iTlicu let us pray tliat come it may — 
I As come it will for a' that — 
That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth, 

May bear the gree, and a' that- 
For a' that, and a' that, 

It's comin' yet for a' that, 
Tiiat man to man, the warld o'er, 

Shall brothers be for a' that. 



O LASSIE, ART THOU SLEEPING 
YET? 

Tune—" Let me in this ae night." 
LASSIE, art thou sleeping yet. 
Or art thou waking, I would wit ? 
For love has bound me hand and foot. 
And I would fain be in, jo. 

Oh, let me in this ae night. 

This ae, ae, ae night. 
For pity's sake this ae night. 

Oh, rise and let me in, jo! 

Thou hear'st the winter wind and weet, 
Nae star blinks through the driving- 
sleet: 
Tak pity on my weary feet, 

And shield me f rae the rain, jo. 

The bitter blast that round me blaws, 
Unheeded howls, unheeded fa's: 
The cauldness o' thy heart's the cause 
Of a' my grief and pain, jo. 

HER ANSWER. 

Oh, tellaa me o' wind and rain. 
Upbraid na me wi' cauld disdain? 
Gae back the gate ye cam again, 
1 vx-inna let ye in, jo. 

I tell you now this ae night, 

This ae, ae, ae night; 
And ance for a', this ae night, 

I winua let you in, jo. 

The snellcst,^ blast at mirkest hours. 
That round the pathless Avauderer 

pours, 
Is noclit to what poor she endures 
That's trusted faithless man, jo. 

The sweetest flower that deck'd the 

mead, 
Nov.' trodden like the vilest weed; 

1 Sharpest. 



Let simple maid the lesson read, 
The weird may be her ain, jo. 

The bird that charm'd his sumuici 

day 
Is now the cruel fowler's prey; 
Let witless, trusting woman say 
How aft her fate's the same, jo. 



THE HERON ELECTION BAL- 
LADS. 

BALLAD I. 

Whom Mill you send to London town. 

To Parliament, and a' that ? 
Or wlia in a' the country round 
The best deserves to fa' that ? 
For a' that, and a' that. 
Through Galloway and a' that; 
Where is the laird or belted knight 
That best deserves to fa' that Y 

Wlia sees Kerroughtree's open yett,^ 

And wha is't never saw that ? 
Wha over wi' Kerroughtree met. 
And has a doubt of a' that ? 
For a' that, and a' that, 
Here's Heron yet for a' that! 
The independent patriot, 
The honest man, and a' that. 

Though wit and worth in either sex, 

St. Mary's Isle can shaw that; 
Wi' dukes and lords let Selkirk mix. 
And weel does Selkirk fa' that. 
For a' that, and a' that! 
Here's Heron yet for a' that! 
The independent commoner 
Shall be the man for a' that. 

But why should we to nobles jouk?* 

And it's against the law that: 
For why, a lord may be a gouk^ 
Wi' ribbon, star, and a' that. 
For a' that, and a' that. 
Here's Heron yet for a' that! 
A lord may be a lousy loun 
Wi' ribbon, star, and a' that. 

A beardless boy. comes o'er the hills 
Wi' uncle's purse and a' that; 

But we'll hae ane frae 'mang oursels, 
A man we ken, and a' that. 
For a' that, and a' that. 



> Gate. 2 Bend. 



Fool. 



280 



BURNS' WORKS. 



Here's Heron yet for a' that! 
For we're not to be bought and 

sold 
Like naigs, and nowt,^ and a' that. 

Then let us drhik the Stewartry, 

iverroughtree's laird, and a' that, 
Our representative to be. 

For weel he's worthy a' that. 
For a' that, and a' that, 
Here's Heron yet for a'' that! 
A House of Commons such as he, 
They would be blest that saw that. 



BALLA9 II. 
Tune—" Fy let us a' to the bridal." 

Fv, let us a' to Kirkcudbright, 
For there vvill be bickering there; 

For Murray's light horse are to muster, 
And Oil, how the heroes will swear ! 

And there will be Murray,* comman- 
der. 
And Gordon.- the battle to win; 
'^ike brothers they'll stand by each 
other, 
Sae knit in alliance and kin. 

And there will be black-nebbit John- 
nie,^ 

The tongue o' tlie trump to them a'; 
An lie gets na hell for his haddin' 

The deil gets na justice ava'; 

And there will be Kempleton's birkie,^ 
A boy na sae black at tlie bane. 

But, as for his fine nabob fortune. 
We'll e'en let the subject alane. 

And there will be Wigton's new sher- 
iff,5 
Dame Justice fu' brawlie has sped, 
Slie's gotten the heart of a Bushby, 
But, Lord ! what's become o' the 
head ? 

1 Cattle. 

^ Murray of Broughton. 

- Gordon of Balmaghie. 

•^ Mr. John Bushby, a sharp-witted lawyer, 
lor vv-hom the poet had no little aversion. 

'^ William Bushby of Kempleton, brother 
of the above, who had made a fortune in In- 
dia, but which was popularly thoupfht to have 
orit^snated in some questionable transactions 
connected with the ruinous affair of the Ayr 
Bank before he went abroad. 

•"' M.-. Bushby Maitiand, son of John, and 
recently appointed Sheriff of Wigtonshire. 



And there will be Cardoness,^ Esquire. 

Sae mighty in Cardoness' eyes, 
A wight that will weather danmation, 

For the devil the prey will despise. 

And there will be Kenmure,' sae gen- 
erous ! 

Whose honour is proof to the storm; 
To save tliem from stark reprobation. 

He lent them his name to the firm. 

But we winna mention Redcastle,^ 
Tlie body, e'en let him escape ! 

He'd venture the gallows for siller. 
An 'twere na the cost o' the rape. 

And where is our king's lord-lieuten- 
ant, 

Sae famed for his gratefu' return ? 
The billie is getting his questions. 

To say in St. Stephen's the morn. 

And there will be Douglases® doughty. 
New-christening towns far and 
near; 

Abjuring their democrat doings. 
By kissing the of a peer. 

And there will be lads o' the gospel, 
Muirhead,''' wha's as good as he's 
true; 
And there will be Buittle's apostle,** 
Wlia's mair o' the black than the 
blue. 

And there will be folk frae St. Mary's, 

A house o' great merit and note, 
The deil ane but honours them higli- 

i.y — 

The deil ane will gie them liis vote ! 

And there will be wealthy young 
R ichard , * - [neck ; 

Dame Fortune should hing by the 
For prodigal, thriftless, bestowing, 

Ilis merit had won him respect. 

And there will be rich brother nabobs, 
Though nabobs, yet men of the first, '^ 



^ David Ma.xwell of Cardoness. 

■^ Mr. Gordon of Kcnmure. 

^ Mr. Lawrie of Redcastle. 

^ Messrs. Douglas of Carlinwark gave the 
name of Castle Douglas to a village which 
rose in their neighbourhood — now a populous 
Lown. 
1° Rev. Mr. Muirhead, minister of Urr. 

11 Rev. George Maxwell, minister of Buit 
tie. 

12 Richard Oswald of Auchincraive. 
^^ The Messrs. hannay. 



SONGS. 



281 



And there will be Colliestoii's'^ whisk- 
ers, 
And Quintin/'' o' lads not the warst. 

And there will be stamp-office John- 
nie,^* 
Tak tent how ye purchase a dram; 
And there will be gay Cassencanie, 
And there will be gle<^ Colonel 
Tamji^ 

And there will be trusty Kerrough- 
tree,'^ 

Wliase honour was ever his law, 
if the virtues were pack'd in a parcel, 

His worth might be sample for a'. 

And strong and respectfu's his backing, 
The maist o' the lairds wi' him stand, 

Nae gipsy-like nominal barons, 
Whase property's paper, but lands. 

And can we forget the anld Major, '^ 
Wha'll ne'er be forgot in the Greys, 

Our flattery we'll keep for some ither, 
Him only it's justice to praise. 

And there will be maiden Kilkerran,^*^ 
And also Barkskimming's guid 
knight,-^ 

And there will be roaring Birtv/histle,^'- 
Wlia luckily roars in the right. 

And there, frae the Niddisdale border, 
Will mingle the Maxwells in droves; 

Teugh Johnnie,-^ stanch Geordie/--^ 
and Walie,^° 
That griens for the fishes and loaves. 

And there will be Logan M'Dowall,-*" 
Sculduddery and he will be there; 

And also the wild Scot o' Galloway, 
Sodgering, gunpowder Blair.-"' 

'^ Mr. Copland of Colheston. 

^■' (Juintin M'Adam of Ciaigengiilan. 

i<^ Mr. John Syme, distributor of stamps, 
Dumfries. 

'" Colonel Goldie of Goldielea. 

'■^ Mr. Heron of Kerroughtree, the Whig 
candidate. 

" Major Heron, brother of the above. 

20 Sir Adam Ferguson of Kilkerran. 

21 Sir William Miller of Barkskimming, af- 
terwards a judge, with the title of Lord Glen- 
lee. 

-- Mr. Birtwhistle of Kirkcudbright. 
-3 Mr. Maxwell of Terraughty. 
-* George Max\Tell of Carruchan. 
95 Mr. Wellwood Maxwell. 
*" Captain M' Do wall of Logan. 
-^ Mr. Blair of Dunsky. 



Then hey the chaste inteiest o' Brough- 
ton, [bring 1 

And hey for the blessings 'twiil 
It may send Balmaghie to the Com- 
mons, 
In St)dom 'twould make him a king; 

And hey for the sanctified Murray,^^ 
Our land wlia wi' chapels has stored; 

He founder'd his horse amang harlots. 
But gied the auld naig to the Lord. 



JOHN BUSHBY'S LAMENTATION, 

• BALLAD III, 

'TwAS in the seventeen hundred year 

O' Christ, and ninety-five. 
That year I was the wae'st man 

O' ony man alive. 

In March, the three-and-twentieth day. 
The sun raise clear and bright; 

But oh, I was a waefu' man 
Ere to-fa' o' the night. 

Yerl Galloway lang did rule this land 

Wi' equal right and fame. 
And thereto was his kinsman join'd, 

The Murray's noble name! 

Yerl Galloway lang did rule the land, 
Made me the judge o' strife; 

But now Yerl Galloway's sceptre's 
broke. 
And eke my hangman's knife. 

'T\^•as by the banks o' bonny Dee, 
Beside Kirkcudbright towers 

The Stewart and the Murray there 
Did muster a' their powers. 

The Murray, on the auld gray yaud,' 
^Vi' winged spurs did,ride, 

That auld gray yaud, yea, Nid'sdale 
rade, 
He staw- upon Nidside. 

And there had been the yerl himsel, 
Oh, there had been nae play; 

But (rarlies was to London gane. 
And sae the kye might stray. 



28 Mr. Murray of Broughton, who had aban- 
doned his wife, and eloped with a lady of 
rank. 



i Mare, 



'« Stole. 



282 



BURNS' WOfeKS. 



And there was Balmaghie, I ween. 
In the front rank he wad shine, 

But Balmagliie had ])et.ter been 
Drinking Madeira wine 

Fraethe Glenkens came to our aid 

A chief o' douglity de(;d; 
In case that wortli shoukl wanted be, 

O' Kenmure we had need. 

And there, sae grave, Squire Car- 
doness 
! Look'd on till a' was done; 
Sae in the tower o' Card<Hiess, 
A Iiowlet sits at noon. 

And there led I the Bushbjs a'; 

My gamesome Billy V\'ili, 
And my son Maitland, wise as brave. 

My footsteps folio w'd still. 

The Douglas and the Heron's name. 
We set nought to their score; 

The Douglas and the Heron's name 
Had felt our weight before. 

But Douglases c' weight had we, 

A pair o' trusty lairds, 
For building cot-houses sae famed, 

And christening kail -yards. 

And by our banners march'd Muirhead, 

And Buittle wasna slack, 
Whose haly priesthood nane can stain, 

For wha can dye the black ? 



THE DUMFRIES VOLUNTEERS 

Tune—" Push about the jorum." 

Burns having- joined the Dumfries Volunteers 
when they were formed early in 1795, sifj. 
nalised that patriotic event by the composi- 
tion of the following- ballad, which after- 
wards became very popular throughout the 
district. 

Does haughty Gaul invasion threat ? 

Then let the louns beware, sir; 
There's wooden walls upon our seas, 

And volunteers on shore, sir. 
The Nith shall rin to Corsincon, 
^ The CrifFel sink in Sol way. 
Ere we permit a foreign foe 

On British ground to rally ! 

We'll ne'er permit a" foreign foe 
On British ground to rally. 



Oh, let us not, like snarling curs, 

In wrangling be divided; 
Till, slap ! come in an unco loun. 

And wi' a rung' decide it. 
Be Britain still to Britain true, 

Amang oursels united; 
For never but by British hands 

Maun British wrangs be righted 1 
For never, &c. 

The kettle o' the kirk and state. 

Perhaps a clout may fail in't; 
But deil a foreign tinkler loun ' 

Sliall ever ca' a nail in't. 
Our father's bluid the kettle bought, 

And wha wad dare to spoil it ? 
By heavens ! the sacrilegious dog 

Shall fuel be to boil it ! 

By heavens, &c. 

The vrretch that wad a tyrant own, 
And the wretch, his true-sworn 
brother, [throne, 

Wha would set the mob aboon the 

IShiy they be damn'd together ! 
Wha will not sing "God save the 
King " 
Shall hang as high's the steeple; 
But while we sing "God save the 

King," 
We'll ne'er forget the People. 

But while we sing, &c. 



OH, WAT YE WHA'S IN YON 
TOWN? « 

Tune — " I'll aye ca' in by yon town." 
Now haply down yon gay green shaw 
She wanders by yon spreading tree; 
How blest ye flowers that round her 
blaw. 
Ye catch the glances o' her ee ! 

cnoRijs. 

Oh,^ wat ye wha's in yon town, 
Ye see the e'enin' sun upon ? 

The fairest dame's in yon town, 
That e'enin' sun is shining on. 

How blest ye birds that round her 
sing, 
And welcome in the blooming year! 

' Cudg-cl. 



80NCJS 



And doubly welcome be the spring, 
The season to my Lucy dear. 

The sun blinlcs blithe on yon town, 
And on yon bonny braes of Ayr; 

But my delight in yon town, 
And dearest bliss is Lucy fair. 

Without my love, not a' the charms 
O' Paradise could yield me joy; 

But gie me Lucy in my arms, 
And welcome Laphmd's dreary sky! 

My cave wad be a lover's bower, 
Though raging winter rent the air; 

And she a lovely little tiower, 

That I wad tent and shelter there. 

Oh, sweet is she in yon town 

The sinking sun's gane down upon; 

A fairer than's in yon town 

His setting beam ne'er shone upon. 

If angry fate is sworn my foe, 

And suffering I am dooni'd to bear, 

I careless quit aught else below, 

But spare me — spare me, Lucy, 
dear I 

For wiiile life's dearest blood is warm 
Ae thought frae her shall ne'er de- 
part, 

And she— as fairest is her form. ! 
She has the truest, kindest heart ! 

Oh, wat ye wdia's in yon town. 
Ye see' the e'enin' sun upon I 

The fairest dame's in yon town 
That e'enin' sun is shining on. 



ADDRESS TO THE WOODLaRK. 

Tune—" Where'U bonny Ann lie :" or, 
"■ Loch-Eroch Side." 

On, stay, sweet warbling woodlark; 

stay, 
Nor quit for me the trembling spray; 
A hapless lover courts tuy lay, 
Thy soothing, fond complaining. 

Again, again that tender part, 
That I may catch thy melting art; 
For surely that wad tosu-h her heart 
Wha kills me wi' disdaining. 



Say. was thy little mate unkind. 
And heard tliee as the careless wind ? 
Oh, noclit but lov3 and sorrow join'd, 
Sic iijjtes o' woe could wauken. 

Thou tells o' never-ending care, 
O' speechless grief and dark despair: 
For pity's sake, sweet bird, nae mair! 
Or my poor heart is broken! 



ihl 



ON CHLORIS BEING ILL. 

Tune—" Aye wakin', O." 
Can I cease to care ? 

Can I cease to languish, 
Whilf my darling fair 

Is on the couch of angui 

Long, long the night. 

Heavy comes the morrow, 

While my souVs delight 
Is on her bed of sorrow. 

Every hope is fled, 

Every fear is terror; 
Slumber even I dread. 

Every dream is horror. 

Hear me. Powers divine ! 

Oh, in pity hear me ! 
Take aught else of mine. 

But my Cliloris spare me! 



FORLORN, MY LOVE, NO COM- 
FORT NEAR. 
Tune—" Let me in this ae night." 
Fom.OEN, my love, no comfort near. 
Far, far froni the^.^ I wander here; 
Far, far from thee, the fate severe 
At which 1 most repine, love. 

Oil, we Ft thou, love, but near me; 
But near, near, near me ; 
IIow kindly thou wouldst cheer me. 
And mingle sighs with mine, 
love ! 

i Around me scowls a wintry sky. 
That blasts each bud of hope and joy ; 
And shelter, shade, nor home have I, 
Save in those arms of thine, love. 

Cold, alter'd Friendship's cruel part, 
To poison Fortune's ruthless dart— , 



2S1 



BURNS' WORKS. 



Let me not break thy faithfill heart, 
And say that fate is mine, love. 

But dreary though the moments fleet, 
Oil, let me thinlc we yet shall «fteet 1 
That only ray of solace sweet 
Can on thy Chloris shine, love. 



FRAGMENT— CHLORIS. 
Tune— " Caledonian Hunt's Delight." 
Why, why tell thy lover, 

Bliss he never must enjoy ! 
VTiiy, why undeceive him. 

And give all his hopes the lie ? 

Oh why, while Fancy, raptured, slum- 
bers, 

Chloris, Chloris all the theme ; 
Why, why v»ouldst thou, cruol. 

Wake thy lover from hia dream ? 



MARK YONDER POMP. 
Tune—" Deil tak the Wars." 

Matjk yonder pomp of costly fa^lrlon, 
Round the wealtliy, titled bride: 

But when compared with real passion, 
Poor is all that princely pride. 
What are the showy treasures ? 
What are the noisy pleasures ? 

The gay gaudy glare of vanity and art: 
The polish'd jewel's blaze 
May draw the wondering gaze, 
And courtly grandeur briglit 
The fancy may delight. [heart. 

But never, never can come near the 

Bat did you see my dearest Chloris 

In simplicity's array, [is, 

Lovoiy as yonder sweet opening flower 
Shrinking from the gaze of day; 
Oh then, the heart alarming. 
And all resistless charming. 
In Love's deliglitful fetters she chains 
the willing soul ! 
Ambition would disown 
The world's imperial crov/n, 
Even Avarice would ueny 
His worshipp'd deity, 
And feel through every vein Love's 
n tures roll. 



OH, BONNY WAS YON ROSY 
BRIER. 

Oh, bonny was yon rosy brier, [man; 

That blooms sae far frae haunt o' 
And bonny she, and ah, how dear ! 

It sliaded frae the e'enin' sun. 

Yon rosebuds in the morning dew. 

How pure amang the leaves sae 
green ; 
But purer was the lover's vow [treen. 

They witness'd in their shade yes- 
All in its rude and prickly bower, 

That crimson rose, how sweet and 
fair ! 
But iov(^ is far a sweeter flower 

Amid life's thorny j^ath o' care. 

The pathless wild and wimpling burn, 
Wi' Chloris in my arms, be mine; 

And I the world, nor wish, nor scorn. 
Its joys and griefs alike resign. 



CALEDONIA. 

Tune—" Humours of Glen." 
"The heroine of this song-,'' says Cunning- 
ham, "was Mrs. Burns, who 'so charmed 
the poet by singing it with taste and feel- 
ing, that he declared it to be one of his 
luckiest lyrics." 

Their groves o' sweet myrtle let 

foreign lands reckon, 

Wliere bright-beaming summers 

_ exalt their perfnnie; [breckan,' 

Far dearer to me yon lone glen o' grten 

Wi' the burn stealing under the lang 

yellow broom: 

Far dearer tome are yon humble broom 

bowers, [lowly unseen; 

Where the blue-bell and gowan lurk 

For there, lightly tripping amang the 

wild flowers, [my Jean. 

A-listening the linnet, aft wanders 

Though rich is the breeze in their gay 

sunny vail eys , [wave ; 

And cauld Caledonia's blast on the 

Their sweet-scented woodlands that 

skirt the proud palace, 

What are they ?— The haunt o' the 

tyrant and slave! 

* Fern. 



SONGS. 



283 



The slave's spicy forests, and gold- 
bubbling fountains, [dain; 
The brave Caledonian views wi' dis- 
He wanders as free as the winds of his 
mountains, 
Save Love's willing fetters — the 
chains o' his Jean. 



TWAS NA HER BONNY BLUE EE. 

Tune — " Laddie, he near me." 

TwAS na her bonny blue ee was my 

ruin; [undoing- 

Fair though she be, that was ne'er my 

'Twas the dear smile when naebody 

did mind us, 
'Tv/as the bewitching, sweet, stown 
glance o' kindness, 

Sair do I fear that to hope is denied ine, 
Sair do I fear that despair maun abide 
me! [to sever, 

But though fell Fortune should fate us 
Queen shall she be in my bosom for- 
ever. 
Mary, I'm thine wi' a passion sincerest. 
And thou hast plighted me love o' the 
dearest ! [alter — • 

And thou'rt the angel that never can 
Sooner the sun iu his motion would 
falter 



HOW CRUEL ARE THE 
PARENTS! 

ALTERED FROM AN OLD ENGLISH 
SONG. 

Tune—" John Anderson, my Jo." 
How cruel are the parents 

Who riches only prize, 
And to the wealthy booby 

Poor woman sacrifice! 
Meanwhile the hapless daughter 

Has but a choice of strife — 
To shun a tyrant father's hate, 

Become a wretched wife. 

The ravening hawk pursuing, 

Tlie trembling dove thus flies, 
To shun impelling ruin 

A while her pinion tries; 
Till of escape despairing, 

No shelter or reti-eat, 
She trusts the rutliless falconer, 

And drops beneath his feet! 



LAST MAY A BRAW WOOER. 

Tune— ''The Lothian Lassie." 

Last May a braw wooer cam down the 

lang glen, [me; 

And sair wi' his love he did deave 

I said there was naething I hated lik^ 

men, [lieve me, 

The deuce gae wi'm, to believe, be 

The deuce gae wi'm, to believe me ! 

He spak o' the darts in my bonny black 

een. 

And vow'd for my love he was dying, 

I said ho might die when he liked for 

Jean, Dyii^g» 

The J^ord forgie me for lying, for 

The Lord forgie me for h'ing ! 

A weel-stocked mailen' — himsel for 

the laird — [proffers: 

And marriage aif-hand, ^vere his 

I never loot on that I kenn'd it, or 

cared, [waur ofEers, 

But thought I might hae waur offers. 

But thought I might hae waur ofiers. 

But what wad yc thinli ? in a fortniglit 

Oil less — [her ! 

The deil tak his taste to gae near 

He up the lang loan to my black cousin 

Bess, 

Guess ye how, the jad ! I could bear 

her, could bear her, [her. 

Guess ye how, the jad ! I could bear 

But a' the neist week, as 1 fretted wi' 
care, 
I gaed to the tryst o' Dalgarnock, 
And wha but my fine fickle lover was 
there ! [warlock, 

I glower'd- as I'd seen a warlock, a 
I glower'd as I'd seen a warlock. 

But owre my left shouther I gae him 

a blink. 

Lest neebors might say I was saucy; 

My wooer he caper'd as he'd been in 

drink . [dear lassie. 

And vow'd I was his dear lassie. 

And vow'd I was his dear lassie. 

I spier'd^ for my cousin fu' couthy and 

sweet. 
Gin she liad recover'd her hearin'. 
And how her new shoon fit her aulj 

shachl't.-* feet, 

' Farm. 2 Stared. ^ Inciuired, * Distorted 



286 



BURNS' WORKS. 



But, heavens ! liow he fell a swear- 
in', a swearin', [in' ! 

But, heavens ! how he fell a s wear- 
lie begg'd, for guidsake, 1 wad be his 
wife, 

Or else I wad kill him wi' sorrow; 
Sae e'en to preserve the ])oor ])()dy his 
life, [to-niorrov*^, 

I think I maun wed him tomorrow, 

I think I maun wed him to morrow. 



THfS IS NO MY AIN LASSIE. 
Tune—*' This is no my ain house." 
I SEE a form, I see a face, 
Ye weel may wi' the fairest place; 
It wants to me the witcliing grace. 

The kind love that's in her ee. 

Oh, this is no my ain lassie. 
Fair though the lassie be; 

Oh, weel ken I my ain lassie, 
Kind love is in her ee. 

She's bonny, blooming, straight, and 

tall. 
And lang has had my heart in thrall; 
And aye it charms my very saul, 
The kind love that's in her ee. 

A thief sae pawkie* is my Jean, 
To steal a blink, by a'- unseen; 
But gleg" as light are lovers' een. 
When kind love is in the ee. 

It may escape the courtly sparks, 
It may escape the learned clerks; 
But weel the watching lover marks 
The kind love that's in her ee. 



NOW 



SPRING HAS CLAD 
GROVE IN GREEN. 

A SCOTTISH SONG. 



Now spring has clad the grove in green. 

And strew'd the lea wi' flowers: 
The furrow'd, waving corn is seen 

Rejoice in fostering showers; 
While ilka thing in nature join 

Their sorrows to forego, 
Oh, why thus all alone are mine 

The weary steps of woe ? 



Tlio trout within yon wimpling burn 

Glides swift, a silver dart, 
And, safe beneath the shady thorn. 

Defies the angler's art: 
j My life was ance that careless str(>um, 

That wanton trout was I; 
But love, v>-r unreie.Tita.g beam. 

Has scorcii'd my iour.taiiiS diy. 

The little floweret's peaceful lot, 

In yonder cliff that grows, 
Which, save the linnet's iiiglit, I wo'i ^ 

Nae ruder visit knows. 
Was mine; till love has o'er me pa.st. 

And blighted a' my bloom. 
And now, beneath the withering bla.^t, 

My youth and joy consume. 

The waken'd laverock, warbling, 
springs, 

And climbs the early sky. 
Winnowing blithe her dewy wings 

In morning's rosy eye; 
As little reckt I sorrow's power, 

Until the flowery snare 
O' witching love, in luckless hour, 

Made me the thrall o' care. 

Oh, had my fate been Greenland snows, 

Or Afric's burning zone, 
Wi' man and nature leagued my foes, 

So Peggy ne'er I'd known ! 
The wretch whase doom is, " Hope 
nae mair," 

What tongue his woes can tell ! 
Within whase bosom ; save despair, 

Nae kinder spirits dwell." 



THE 



» Sly. 



Quick, 



THE DEAN OF FACULTY. 

A BAT.LAD. 
Tune—'' The Dragon of Wantley." 
Dire was the hate at old Harlaw, 

That Scot to Scot did carry; 
And diretlKi discord Langside saw 

For beauteous, hapless Mary: 
But Scot with Scot ne'er met so hot. 

Or were more in fury seen, sir, 
Than 'twixt Hal* and Bobf for the 
famous job — 
Who should be Faculty's Dran, sir. 



* The Hon. Henry Erskine. 

t Robert Dundas. Esq., of Arniston. 



SONGS. 



287 



This H;il for genius, wit, and lore. 

Among the first was number'd; 
But pious Bob, 'mid learning's store, 

Commandment tenth remember'd. 
Yet simple Bol) the victory got. 

And won his heart's desire; [pot, 
Which shows that Heaven can boil the 

Though the devil m the fire. 

Squire Hal, besides, had in this case 

Pretentions rather brassy, 
For talents to deserve a place 

Are qualifications saucy; 
So their worships of the Faculty, 

Quite sick of merit's rudeness. 
Chose one who should owe it all, d'ye 
see, 

To their gratis grace and goodness. 

As once on Pisgah purged was the sight 

Of a son of Circumcision, 
So may be, on this Pisgah height, 

Bob's purblind, mental vision: 
Nay, Bobby's mouth may be open'd yet 

Tillfor eloquence you hail him, 
And swear he has the Angel met 

That met the Ass of Balaam. 

In your heretic sins may ye live and 
die. 

Ye heretic eight-and-thirty! 
But accept, ye sublime Majority, 

My congratulations hearty. 
Witii your Honours and a certain King, 

In your servants this is striking — 
The more incapacity they bring. 

The more they're to your liking. 



HEY FOR A LASS WV A TOCHER. 

Tune — "• Balinamona Ora." 

Aw a' wi' your witchcraft o' beauty's 
alarms, [your arms; 

The slender bit beauty you grasp in 

Oh, gie me the lass that has acres o' 
charms, [farms. 

Oh, gie me the lass wi' the weel-stockit 

Then hey for a lass wi' a tocher. 
Then hey for a lass wi' a tocher; 
Then hey for a lass wi' a tocher. 
The nice yellow guineas for me. 

Your beauty's a flower in the morning 

that blows, [grows: 

And withers the faster the faster it 



But the rapturous charm o' the bonny 

green knowes, [white yov/es. 

Ilk spring they're new decki t wi' bonny 

And e'en when this beauty your bosom 
has blest; [possest; 

The brightest o' beauty may cloy when 

But the sweet yellow darlings Vvd' 
Geordie imprest, [they're carest. 

The langer ye hae them the c?:-:.- 



TUNE- 



JESSY. 

" Here's a health to them that's 
awa'." 



The heroine of this song was Miss Jessy Lew- 
ars, a kind-hearted, amiable young crea- 
ture. Her tender and assiduous attentioxns 
to the poet during his last illness, it is well 
known, greatly soothed his fretted spirit, 
and eased his shattered frame. 

Hetie's a health to ane I lo'e dear ! 

Here's a health to ane I lo'e dear ! 
Tliou art sweet as the smile when fond 
lovers meet. 

And soft as their parting tear — Je.'^sy ! 

x\lthough tliou maun never be ndne. 
Although even hope is denied; 

'Tis sweeter for thee despairing 

Than aught in the world beside — 

Jessy ! 

1 mourn through the gay, gaudy day, 
As, hopeless, I muse on thy charm ;; 

But welcome the dream o' sweet sluuv- 

ber, [Jessy '. 

For then I am lockt in thy arms — 

I guess l)y the dear angel smile, 
I guess by the love-rolling ee; 

But wliy urge the tender confession. 
'Gainst Fortune's fell cruel decret- 1 
— Jessy ! 

Here's a health to ane I lo'e dear ! 

Here's a health to ane I lo'e dearl 
Thou art sweet as the smile when fond 
lovers meet. 

And soft as their parting tear — Jessy ^ 



OH, WERT THOU IN THE CAULD 
BLAST. 

Tune—" The Lass o' Livingstone." 

This fine song is another tribute of the poet' ; 
Mu.se to his ministering angel, Miss Jessy 



283 



BURNS' WORKS. 



Lcwars. According to the lady's statement, 
vs. related by Mr. Chambers, the poet hav- 
ing called upon her one morninij, said, if 
she would play him any favourite air for 
Vv'hich she mig^ht wish new words, he would 
endeavour to produce something- that 
should please her. She accordingly sat 
down to the piano, and played once or twice 
the air of an old ditty beginning with the 
words— 

" The robin cam to the wren's nest, 
And keekit in, and keekit in ; 
Oh, weel's me on your auld pow, 
Wad ye be in, wad ye be in," &c. 

And, aflcr a few minutes' abstraction, the 
poet produced the following beautiful 



sJii, wert tliou in the cauld blast 

On yonder lea, on yonder lea. 
My plaidie to the angry airt, 

I'd shelter thee, I'd shelter thee: 
Or did Misfortune's bitter storms 

Around thee blaw, around thee blaw, 
Thy bield^ should be my bosom, 

To share it a', to share it a'. 

Or were I in the Avildest waste, 

Sae bleak and bare, sae bleak and 
bare. 
The desert were a paradise, 

If thou wert there, if thou wert there- 
Or were I monarch o' the globe, 

Wi' thee to reign, wi' thee to reign, 
The brightest jewel in my crown 

Wad be my queen, wad be my queen. 



AN EXCELLENT NEW SONG. 

TuME — " Buy Broom Besoms." 

A dissolution of Parliamant having taken 
place in May of this j'ear, a fresh'contest 
took place for the Stewartry ot Kirkcud- 
bright, Mr Heron being on this occasion 
opposed by the Hon. Montgomery Stewart, 
a younger son of the Earl of Galloway's. 
And the poet, although prostrate from sick- 
ness and confined to hiscliamber, once more 
took up 'he pen in the cause of his friend 
Mr. Heron, and produced the following 
satirical ballad against his opponents. A 
great many years ago, a set of vagrant 
dealers called Trog(;ers^ used to travel about 
the country districts of Scotland, disposing 
of various kinds ot wares, which were 
known by the general name of Troggiii. In 
the ballad, the poet has imagined a Trogger 
to be perambulating the country, offering 
the characters of the Tory or Galloway 
party for sale as Troggin. Mr. Heron again 



i Shelter. 



succeeded in beating his opponents, but net 
till death had placed the poor poet beyond 
the reach ot all earthly joy or sorrow. 

WiiA will buy my troggin, 

Fine election ware; 
Broken trade o' Brougliton, 
A' in high repair. 
Buy braw troggin, 

Frae the banks o' Dee; 
Wha wants troggin 
Let him come to me. 

There's a noble earl's 

Fame and high renown,* 

For an auld sang — [stown. 

It's thought the guids we'e 
Buy braw troggin, &c. 

Here's the worth o' Broughtonf 

In a needle's ee; 
Here's a reputation 

Tint^ by Balmaghie.:}: 

Buy braAv troggin, &c. 

Here's an honest conscience 

Might a prince adorn; 
Frae the downs o' Tinwald — 

Sae was never born.ij. 

Buy braw troggin, «fcc. 

Here's the stuff and lining 

O' Cardoness'head;! 
Fine for a sodger, 

A' the wale'^ o' lead. 

Buy braw troggin, &c. 

Here's a little wadset,^ 
Buittle's scrap a' truth.H 

Pawn'd in a gin-shop, 
Quenching holy drouth. 
Buy braw troggin, &c. 

Here's armorial bearings 
Frae the manse o' Urr; 

The crest, and auld crab-apple,* * 
Rotten at the core. 

Buy braw troggin, &c. 

I Lost. 2 Choice. ^ Mortgage, 
* The Earl of Galloway. 

t Mr. Murray of Broughton. 

X Gordon of Balmaghie. 

§ A sneering allusion to Mr. Bushby. 

II Maxwell of Cardoness. 

^ Rev. George MaxAvell, minister of Buib 
tie. 

** An allusion to the Rev. Dr. Muirhead. 
minister of Urr, in Gallov.'ay, 



SONGS. 



260 



Here is Satan's picture, 

Like a bizzard gled/'* 
Pouncing poor Redcastle,f f 

Sprawliu' like a taed.* 

Buy braw troggin, &c. 

Here's the font where Douglas 

Stanc and mortar names; 
Lately used at Cailj 
. Christening Murray's crimes. 
Buy braw troggin, &c. 

Here's the worth and wisdom 
Collieston:|: X can boast; 

By a thievish midge^ 

They had been nearly lost. 
Buy braw troggin, &c. 

Here is Murray's fragments 
0' the ten commands; 

Gifted by bla.ck Jock, 

To get them afE his hands. 
Buy braw troggin, &c. 

Saw ye e'er sic troggin ? 

If to buy ye're slack, 
Hornie's^ turnin' chapman — 
He'll buy a' the pack. 
Buy braw troggin 

Frae the banks o' Dee, 
Wha w^ants troggin 
Let him come to me. 



FAIREST MAID ON DEVON 
BANKS. 

Tune — " Rothemurche." 

In this song — composed during the last months 
of hts Hfe, when prostrate with illness and 
oppressed with poverty — his mind wandered 
to the banks of the Devon, where he had 
spent some hi'ppy days, when in the full 
flush of fame, m the company of the lovely 
Charlotte Hamilton. 

Fairest maid on Devon banks, 
Crystal Devon, winding Devon 

Wilt thou lay that frown aside. 
And smile as thou were wont to 
do? 



Full well thou knovv'st I love thee, 

dear! 
Couldst thou to malice lend an ear ? 
Oh, did not love exclaim, ' ' Forbear, 

Nor use a faithful lover so." 

Then come, thou fairest of the fair. 
Those wonted smiles, oh, let me share: 
And by thy beauteous self I svvear 
No love but thine* my heart shall 
know. 



OH, THAT I HAD NE'ER BEEN 

MARRIKD. 

The last verse only of this song is Burns' 
the first is old. 

Oh, that I had ne'er been married, 

I wad never had nae care; 
Now I've gotten wife and bairns, 
And they cry crowdie' ever mail 
Ance crowdie, twice crowdie. 

Three times crowdie in a day. 
Gin ye crowdie ony mair, 

Ye'll crowdie a' my meal away. 

Waefu' want and hunger tiey^ me, 

Glowering by the liallan en'; 
Sair I fecht them at the door. 



But aye I'm 



they come ben. 



■• Kite. ^ Toad. •= Gnat. ^ Satan. 
+t W. S. Lawrie <:>f Redcastle. 
Jt Copland of Colhcston. 



THE RUINED MAID'S LAMENT. 

On, meikle do I rue, fause love. 

Oh, sairly do I rue, [tongue. 

That e'er I heard your tiattering 
That e'er your face I knew. 

Oh, I hae tint' my rosy cheeks, 
Likevyise my waist sae sma'; 

And I hae lost my lightsome heart 
That little wist a fs.' 

Now I maun thole- tlio scornf a' sneer 

0' mony a saucy quean; 
When, gin the truth were a' but kent. 

Her life's been waur than mine. 

Wliene'er my father thinks on me, 

He stares into the wa'. 
My mither, she has ta'en tlie bed 

Wi' thinkhv on mv fa'. 



1 Gruel. 2 Fright. ^ Afraid. 
» Lobt. 2 Bear. 



290 



BURNS' WORKS, 



Whene'er I liear my father's foot, 
My heart wad burst wi' pain, 

Wliene'er I meet my mither's ee, 
My tears rin down like rain. 

Alas ! sae sweet a tree as love 
Sic bitter fruit should bear ! 

Alas ! that e'er a bonny face 
Should draw a sauty tear ! 

But Heaven's curse will blast the man 

Denies the bairn he got, 
Or leaves the painfu' lass he loved 



KATHERINE J AFFRAY 

There lived a lass in yonder dale. 
And down in yonder glen, O ! 

And Katherine Jaffray was her name, 
Weel known to many men, O ! 

Out came the Lord of Lauderdale, 
Out frae the south countrie, O ! 

All for to court this pretty maid, 
Her bridegroom for to be, O ! 

He 's teird her father and mother 
baith, 

As I hear sundry say, ! 
But he liasna tell'd the lass hersel. 

Till on her wedding day, ! 

Then came the Laird o' Lochinton, 
Out frae the English Border, 

AH for to court this pretty maid, 
All mounted in good order. 



ROBIN SHURE IN HAIRST. 

CHORUS. 

Robin shure in hairst,' 

I shure wi' him; 
Fient a lieuk'^ had I, 

Yet I stack by him. 

I gaed up to Dunse, 

To warp a wab o' plaiden ; 
At his daddie's yett, ^ 

Wha met me but Robin ? 

Was na Robin bauhL 
Though I was a cotter ; 



Play'd me sic a trick, 

And me the eller's dochter ?* 

Robin promised me 

A' my winter vittle ; 
Fient haet'^ had he but three 

Goose feathers and a whittle. 



^ Reaped in harvest. 



jicklc. ^ Gale, 



SWEETEST MAY. 

Sweetest May, let love inspire thee » 
Take a heart which he desires thee ; 
As thy constant slave regard it ; 
For its faith and truth reward it. 

Proof o' shot to birth or money, 
Not the wealthy, but the bonny ; 
Not highborn, but noble-minded. 
In love's silken band can bind it ! 



WHEN I THINK ON THE HAPPV 
DAYS. 

When I think on the happy days 
1 spent wi' you, my dearie ; 

And now what lands between us lie. 
How can 1 be but eerie ! 

IIow slow ye move, ye heavy hours. 
As ye were wae and weary ! 

It was na sae ye glinted by. 
When I was wi' my dearie. 



HUNTING SONG. 

Tune — " I rede you beware at thfe hunting:.*' 

The heather was blooming, the mea- 
dows v.^ere mawn, [dawn, 

Our lads gaed a-hunting ae day at the 

O'er moors and o'er mosses, and mony 
a glen, [moor-hen. 

At length they discover'd a bonny 

I rede you beware at the hunting, 
young men; [young men; 

I r6de you beware at the hunting, 

Tak some on the wing, and some 
as they spring. [hen. 

But cannily steal on a bonny moor- 

Sweet brushing the dew from the 

brown heather bells, [fells; 

Her colours betray'd her on yon mossy 

* Elder's daughter. ^ Nothing. 



SONGS. 



m 



Her plumage outlustered xh-d pride o* 

the spring, ^ l^i^g- 

And oh, as she wanton'd ^^j oa iha 

Aiild Phoebus himsel, as he peeped 
o'er the hill, [skill, 

In spite, at her plumage he tried his 

He levell'd his rays, where she bask'd 
on the brae — 

His rays Avere outshone, and but 
mark'd where she lay. 

They hunted the valley, they hunted 
tiie hill, [skill, 

The best of our lads wi' the besto' their 

But still as the fairest she sat in their 
sight, [tiight. 

Then, v/hirr ! she was over a mile at a 



OH, AYE MY WIFE SHE DANG 

ME. 
Tune—" My wife she dang me." 

Oh, aye my wife she dang me. 

And aft my wife did bang me, 
If ye gie a woman a' her will, 

Guid faith, she'll soon o'ergang ye. 
On peace and rest my mind was bent, 

And fool I was I married; 
But never honest man's intent 

As cursedly miscarried. 

Some sairie comfort still at last, 

When a' their days are done, man; 
My pains o' hell on earth are past, 

I'm sure o' bliss aboon, man. 
Oh, aye my wife she dang me, 

And aft my wife did bang me. 
If ye gie a woman a' her will, 

Giiid faith, she'll soon o'ergang ye. 



BROSE AND BUTTER. 

Oh, gie my love brose, brose, 
Gie my love brose and butter; 

For nane in Carrick or Kyle 
Can please a lassie better. 

The laverock lo'es the grass. 
The moor-hen loe's the heather; 

But gie me a braw moonlight, 
Me and my love together. 



OH, WHA IS SHE THAT LO'ES 
ME? 

Tune—" Morag." 
Oh, wha is she that lo'es me. 

And has my heart a-keeping? 
Oil, sweet is she that lo'es me. 
As dews o' simmer weeping, 
la tears the rosebuds steeping ! 

CHORUS. 

Oh, th^t'8 the lassie o' my heart, 

My lassie ever dearer; 
Oh, thai'a the queen of womankind. 

And ne'er a ane to peer her. 

If thou shalt -neet a lassie, 
In grace anci beauty charming. 

That e'en thy cliosen lassie, 

Erewhile thy breast sae warming, 
Had ne'er sic powers alarming; 

If thou hadst heard her talking. 
And thy attentions plighted. 

That ilka body talking. 

But her by thee is slighted. 
And thou art all delighted; 

If thou hadst met this fair one; 
When f rae her thou hast parted, 

If every other fair one. 

But iier thou hast deserted. 
And thou art broken-hearted. 



DAMON AND SYLVIA. 

Tune—" The tither morn, as I forlorn. ' 
YoN wandering rill that marks the hill. 

And glances o'er the brae, sir. 
Slides "by a bower, where mony a 
flower 

Sheds fragrance on the day, sir. 

There Damon lay, with Sylvia gay, 
To love they thought nae crime, sir; 

The wild-birds sang, the echoes rang. 
While Damon's heart beat time, sir. 



SHELAII O'NEIL. 

When first I began for to sigh and to 

w^oo lier, [deal. 

Of many fine things I did say a great 



BURNS' WORKS. 



But, above all the rest, that which 
pleased her the best 
Was, Oh, will you marry me, Shelah 
O'Neil ? 
My point 1 soon carried, for straight 
we were married. 
Then the weight of my burden I 
soon 'gan to feel, — 
For she scolded, she listed, oh, then 
I enlisted. 
Left Ireland, and whisky, and 
Shelah O'Neil. 

Then, tired and dull-hearted, oh, then 
I deserted, 
And lied into regions far distant 
from home ; 
To Frederick's army, where none e'er 
could harm me, 
Save Shelah herself, in the shape of 
a bomb. 
I fought every battle, where cannons 
did rattle, 
Felt sharp shot, alas ! and the sharp 
pointed steel ; 
But in all my wars round, thank my 
stars, I ne'er found 
Aught so sharp as the tongue of 
cursed Shelah O'Neil. 



THERE'S NEWS, LASSES, NEWS. 

There's news, lasses, news, 
Quid news I have to tell ; 

There's a boatfu' o' lads 
Come to our town to sell. 



CI I OK us. 

The wean' wants a cradle. 

And the cradle wants a cod,'' 
And ril no gang to my bed 

Until I get a nod. 

Father, quo' she, Mither, quo' she. 

Do what you can ; 
111 no gang to my bed 

Till 1 get a man. 

I hae as guid a craft rig 
As made o' yird and stane ; 

And waly fa' the ley-crap. 
For I maun till'd again. 



THERE WAS A WIFE 

There was a wife wonn'd in O^^Kpen, 

Scroggam ; 
She brew'd guid ale for gentlemen. 
Sing, auld Cowl, lay you down by me, 
Scroggam, my dearie, ruffum. 

The guidwife's dochier fell in a fever, 

Scroggam , 
The priest o' the parish fell in anither. 
Sing, auld Cowl, lay you down by me, 
Scroggam, my dearie, ruif um. 

They laid the twa i' the bed thegither, 

Scroggam ; 
That the heat o' the tane might cool 

the titlier. 
Sing, auld Caul, lay you down by me, 
Scroggam, my dearie, ruffum. 



1 Ciiild. 



3 PiUow. 



REMARKS ON SCOTTISH SONGS 

AND BALLADS, 

ANCIENT AND MODERN ; 

WITH ANECDOTES OF THEIR AUTHORS. 

BY 

ROBERT BURNS. 



" There needs na be so great a phrase, 
Wi' dringing- dull Italian lays, 
I wadna gie our ain Strathspeys 

For half a hundred score o' 'em; 
They're douff and dowie, at the best, 
Douflf and dowie, douff and dowie ; 
They're douff and dowie a' the best, 

Wi' a' their variorum : 
They're douff and dowie at the best, 
Their allegroes, and at the rest, 
They cannot please a Scottish taste. 

Compared wi' Tullochgorum." 

Rev. John Skinner. 



"The following Remarks on Scottisli 
Song," says Cunningham, ''exist in 
the liand writing of Burns, in an inter- 
leaved copy of the first four volumes 
of Johnson's Musical Museum, which 
the poet presented to Captain Riddel, 
of Friar's Carse, On the death of 
Mrs. Riddel, these precious volumes 
passed into the hands of her niece, 
Eliza Bayley, of Manchester, who 
kindly permitted Mr. Cromek to tran- 
scribe and publish them in his volume 
of the Reliques of Burns. " 

THE HIGHLAND QUEEN. 
The Highland Queen, music and 
poetry, was composed by Mr. M'Vicar, 
purser of tlie Solebay man-of war. — 
This I had from Dr. Blacklock. 



The Highland King, intended as a parody- 
on the former, was the production of a young 
lady, the friend of Charles Wilson, of Edin- 
burgh, who edited a collection of songs, en. 
titled ' Cecilia," which appeared in 1779. 

The following are specimens of these 
songs : — 

THE HIGHLAND QUEEN. 

flow blest that youth whom gentle fate 
Has destined for so fair a mate ! 
Has all these wond'ring gifts in store, 
And each returning day brings more ; 
No youth so happy can be seen. 
Possessing thee, my Highland Queen. 



THE HIGHLAND KING. 

Jamie, the pride of a' the green. 
Is just my age, e'en gay fifteen : 
When first I saw him, 'twas the day 
That ushers in the sprightly May ; 
Then first I felt love's powerful sting. 
And sigh'd for my dear Highland Kinp. 



294 



BURNS' WORKS. 



THE HIGHLAND QUEEN. 

No sordid wish, nor trifling joy, 
Her settled calm uf mind destroy ; 
Strict honour tills her spotless soul, 
And adds a lustre to the whole : 
A matchless shape, a graceful mien, 
All centre in my Highland Queen. 

THE HIGHLAND KING. 

Would once the dearest boy but say 
'Tis you I love . come, come away 
Unto the Kirk, my love, let's hie — 
Oh me ' in rapture I comply • 
And I should then have cause to sing 
The praises of my Highland King. 



BESS THE GAWKIE.* 

This song sliows that the Scottish 
Muses did not all leave us when we 
lost Ramsay and Oswald ;f as 1 have 
good reason to believe that the verses 
and music are both posterior to the 
days of these two g-entiemen. It is a 
beautiful song, and in the genuine 
Scots taste. We have few pastoral 
compositions, I mean the pastoral of 
nature, that are equal to this. 

Blithe young Bess to Jean did say. 

Will ye gang to yon sunny brae. 

Where flocks do feed, and herds do stray. 

And sport awhile wi' Jamie? 
Ah, na, lass, I'll no gang there, 
Nor about Jamie tak nae care. 
Nor about Jamie tak nae care. 

For he's ta'en up wi' Maggy i 

For hark, and I will tell you, lass, 
Did I not see your Jamie pass, 
Wi' meikle gladness in his face. 

Out o'er the muir to Maggy ? 
I wat he gae her mony a kiss. 
And Maggy took them ne'er amiss • 
'Tween ilka smack, pleased her with this, 

That Bess was but a gawkie. 

But whist !— nae mair of this we'll speak. 
For yonder Jamie does us meet . 
Instead of Meg he kiss'd sae sweet, 

I trow he likes the gawkie. 
Oh, dear Bess, 1 hardly knew, 
When T came lay, your gown's sae new, 
I think you've got it wet wi' dew , 

Quoth she, that's like a gawkie. 



* The Rev. James Muirhead, minister of 
Urr, in Galloway, and whose name occurs in 
the Heron Ballads, and other of the poet's 
satirical pieces, was the author of this song. 

t He was a London music-seller, and pub- 
lished a collection of Scottish tunes, entitled, 
"The Caledonian's Pocket Companion." 



The lassies fast frae him they fievv, 
And left poor Jamie sair to rue 
That ever Maggy's face he knew. 

Or yet cad Bess a gawkie. 
As they went o'er the muir they sang. 
The hills and dales with echoes rang. 
The hills and dales with echoes rang, 

Gang o'er the muir to Maggy. 



on, OPEN THE DOOR, LORD 
GREGORY 

It is somewhat singular that in Lan- 
ark, Renfrew, Ayr, Wigton, Kirkcud- 
bright, and Dumfries shires, there is 
scarcely an^old song or tune which, 
from the title, &c . can be guessed to 
belong to, or be the production of, these 
counties. This, 1 conjecture, is one of 
these very few; as the ballad, which is 
a long one, is called, both by tradition 
and in priiited collections, '•' The Lass 
of Lochroyan," which I take to be 
Lochroyan i^ Galloway, 

Oh, open the door. Lord Gregory, 

Oh, open and let me in ; 
The wind blows through my yellow hair. 

The dew draps o'er my chin 
If you are the lass that I loved once, 

As I trow you are not she. 
Come gie me some of the tokens 

That pass'd 'tween you and me. 

Ah, wae be to you, Gregory ! 

An ill death may you die ; 
You will not be the death of one, 

But you'll be the death of three. 
Oh, don't you mind. Lord Gregory* 

'Twas down at yonder burn side 
We changed the ring ofi our ftngers, 

And I put mine on thine. 



THE BANKS OF THE TWEED. 

This song is one of the many attempts 
that English composers have made to 
imitate the Scottish manner, and which 
I shall, in these strictures, beg leave to 
distinguish by the appellation of Anglo- 
Scottish productions. The music is 
pretty good, but the verses are just 
above contempt. 

For to visit my ewes and to see my lambs play. 
By tlie banks of the Tweed and the groves J 
did stray, [sigh'd. 

But my Jenny, dear Jenny, how oft have I 
And have vow'd endless love if you would be 
I my bride. 



REMARKS ON SCOTTISH SONG. 



2% 



To the altar of Hymen, my fair one, repair, 
Where a knot of affection shall tie the fond 

pair, [will we lead, 

To the pipe's sprightly notes the gay dance 
And will bless the dear grove by the banks of 

the Tweed. 



THE BEDS OF SWEET ROSES. 

Tins song, as far as I know, for tlio 
First time appears here in print. — 
When I \vas a boy, it was a very popular 
Bong- in Ayrshire. I remember to have 
heard those fanatics, the Buchanites, 
sing some o'f their nonsensical rhymes, 
which they dignify with the name of 
hymns, to this air. 

As I was walking' one morning' in May, [gay ; 
The little birds were sing-ing delightful and 
The little birds were singing delightful and 
gay ; [play, 

Where I and my true love did often sport and 

Down among the beds of sweet roses, [play, 
Where I and my true love did often sport and 

Down among the beds of sweet roses. 

My daddy and my mammy I oft have heai'd 
them say, [and play ; 

That I was a naughty boy, and did often sport 

But I never liked in all my life a maiden that 
was shy, 

Down among the beds of sweet roses. 



ROSLIN CASTLE. 

These beautiful verses were the pro- 
duction of a Richard Hewit, a young 
man that Dr. Blacklock (to whom I am 
indebted for the anecdote) kept for 
some years as an amanuensis.* I do not 
know who is the author of the second 
song to the same tune. Tytler, in his 
amusing history of Scottish music, 
gives the air to Oswald; hut in Os- 
wald's own collection of Scots tunes, 
when he affixes an asterisk to those he 
himself composed, he does not make 
the least claim to the tune. 

'TwAS in that season of the year. 
When all things gay and sweet appear, 
That Colin, with the morning ray, 
Arose and sung his rural lay. 
Of Nanny's charms the shepherd sung. 
The hills and dales with Nanny rung ; 
While Roslin Castle heard the swain, 
And echo'd back the cheerful strain. 

* This gentleman subsequently became 
Secretary to Lord Milton, (then Lord Justice- 
Clerk,) but the fatiguing nature of his duties 
in that position hurt his health, and he died in 
1794. 



Awake, sweet Muse ! the breathing spring 
With rapture warms ; awake and sing ! 
Awake and join the vocal throng 
Who hail the morning with a song ; 
To Nanny raise the cheerful lay. 
Oh, bid her haste and come away ; 
In sweetest smiles herself adorn, 
And add new graces to the morn ! 

Oh, hark, my love ! on every spray 
Each feather'd warbler tunes his lay ; 
'Tis beauty tires the ravish'd throng, 
And love inspires the melting song: 
Then let my raptured notes arise, 
For beauty darts from Nanny's eyes ; 
And love m.y rising bosom warms. 
And fills my soul with sweet alarms. 



SECOND VERSION. 

From Roslin Castle's echoing walls, 
Resound my shepherd's ardent calls ; 
My Colin bids me come away. 
And love demands I should obey. 
His melting strain, and tuneful lay, 
So much the charms of love display, 
I yield— nor longer can refrain. 
To own my love, and bless my swain. 

No longer can my heart conceal 
The pamful-pleasing flame I feel: 
My soul retorts the am'rous strain ; 
And echoes back in love again- [grove 
Where lurte my songster ? from what 
Does Colin pour his notes of love ? 
Oh, bring me to the happy bower, 
Where mutual love may bliss secure ! 

Ye vocal hills, that catch the song. 
Repeating as it flies along, 
To Colin's ears my strain convey. 
And say, I haste to come away. 
Ye zephyrs soft, that fan the gale, 
Waft to my love the soothing tale ; 
In whispers all my soul express. 
And tell I haste his arms to bless ! 

Oh ! come, my love ! thy Colin's lay 
With rapture calls, oh, come away ! 
Come while the muse this wreath shall 

twine 
Around that modest brow of thine : 
Oh ! hither haste, and with thee bring 
That beaut}' blooming like the spring ; 
Those graces that divinely shine, 
And charm this ravish'd breast of mine ! 



SAW YE JOHNNIE CUMMIN? 
QUO' SHE. 

This song, for genuine humour in 
the verses, and lively originality in the 
air, is unparalleled. I take it to be 
very old. 

Saw ye Johnnie cummin ? quo' she, 

Saw ye Johnnie cummin. 
Oh, saw ye Jv.hnnie cummin, quo'she ; 

Saw ye Johnnie cummin, 



«90 



BURNS' WORKS. 



Wi" his blue bonnet on his head, 
And his doggie runntn'. quo' she ; 
And his doggie runnin ? 

Fee him. father, fee him, quo' she , 

Fee him, father, fee him 
For he IS a gallant lad. 

And a weel doin' ; 
And a' the wark about the house 

Gaes \vi me when I see him, quo' she ; 

Wi' me when I see him. 

What will I do wi' him, hussy? 

What will I do wi' him ? 
He's ne'er a sark upon his back, 

And I hae nane to gie him. 
I hae twa sarks into my kist. 

And ane o' them I'll gie him. 
And for a mark of mair fee, 

Dinaa stand wi' him, quo' she ; 

Dinn.. stand \vi' him. 

For weel do I lo'e him, quo' she : 

Wt(.:i do I lo'e him , 
Oh, fee him, father, fee him, quo' she ; 

Fee lum, father, fee him , 
He'll hand the pleugh, thrash i' the barn, 

And he wi' me at e'en, quo' she , 

Lie vvi' me at e'en. 



CLOUT THE CALDRON. 

A TRADITION is mentioned in the 
Bee, tliat the second Bishop Chisholm, 
of Dunblane, used to say that, if he 
were going to be hanged, nothing 
would soothe his mind so much by the 
way as to hear "Clout the Caldron" 
played. 

I have met with another tradition, 
that the old song to this tune, 

Hae ye ony pots or pans. 
Or ony broken chanlers, 

was composed on one of the Kenmure 
family in the cavalier times, and al- 
luded to an amour he had, while un- 
der hiding, in the disguise of an itiner- 
ant tinker The air is also known by 
the name of 

"The Blacksmith and his Apron," 

which, from the rhythm, seems to 
have been a line of some old song to 
the tune 

Hae ye ony pots or pans. 

Or ony broken chanlers ? 
For I'm a tinker to my trade. 

And newly come frae Flanders, 
As scant o' siller as o' grace. 

Disbanded, we've a bad run ; 
Gang lell the lady o' the place, 

I'm come to clout her caldron." 



Madam, if ye hae wark for me, 

I'll do't to your contentment, 
And dinnacarc a single flie 

For ony man's resentment : 
For, lady fair, though I appear 

To every ane a tinker. 
Yet to yoursel I'm bauid to tell 

I am a gentle jin'Ker. 

Love, Jupiter into a swan 

Turn'd for his lovely Leda ; 
He like a bull o'c-r meadows ran, 

To carry off Europa 
Then may not I, as well as he, 

To cheat your Argus blinker, 
And win your love, like mighty Jove, 

Thus hide me in a tinker ? 

Sir, ye appear a cunning man. 

But this fine plot ye'll fail m. 
For there is neither pot nor pan 

Of mine yell drive a nail in. 
Then bind your budget on your back. 

And nails up in your apron, 
For I've a tinker under tack 

That's used to clout my caldron. 



SAW YE NAEMY PEGGY? 

This charming song is much older, 
and indeed superior to Ramsay's verses, 
" The Toast," as he calls them. 
There is another set of the words, 
much older still, and which I take to 
be the original one, but through it has 
a very great deal of merit, it is not 
quite ladies' reading. 

The original words, for they can 
scarcely be called verses, seem to be aa 
follows; a song familiar froui the era. 
die to every Scottish ear: — 

Saw ye my Maggie, 
Saw ye my Maggie, 
Saw ye my Maggie 
Lin'kin o'er the lea ? 

High kilted was she. 
High kilted was she. 
High kilted was she. 
Her coat aboon her knee. \ 

What mark has your Maggie, 
What mark has j^our Maggie, 
What mark has your Maggie, 
That ane may ken her be ? (by.)* 



* The following verse was added by ih« 
Ettrick Shepherd — 

Maggie's a lovely woman, 
She proves true to no man. 
She proves true to no man. 
And has proven false to met 



REMARKS ON SCOTTISH SONG. 



297 



Though it by no means follows that 
the silliest verses to an air must, for 
that reason, be the original song, yet 
I take this ballad, of which 1 have 
quoted part, to be the old verses. 
The two songs in Ramsay, one of them 
evidently his own, are never to be met 
with in the fireside circle of our peas- 
antry; while that which I take to be 
the old song, is in every shepherd's 
mouth. Ramsay, I suppose, had 
thought the old verses unworthy of a 
place in his collection. 

Saw ye nae my Peggy, 
Saw ye nae my Peggy, 
Saw ye nae my Peggy, 

Coming o'er the lea? 
Sure a finer creature 
Ne'er was form'd by nature, 
So complete each feature. 

So divine is she. 

Oh ! how Peggy charms me ! 
Every look sfcill warms me ; 
Every thought alarms me ; 

Lest she fove nae me. 
Peggy doth discover 
Nought but charms all over ; 
Nature bids me love her. 

That's a law to me. 

Who would leave a lover. 
To become a rover ? 
No, I'll ne'er give over. 

Till I happy be ! 
For since love inspires me. 
As her beauty fires me. 
And her absence tires me, 

Nought can please but she. 

V/hen I hope tu gain her. 
Fate seems to detain her. 
Could I but obtain her, 

Happy would I be ! 
I'll lie down before her, 
Bless, sigh, and adore her. 
With faint look implore her 

Till she pity me ! 



THE FLOWERS OP EDINBURGH. 

This song is one of the many effu- 
sions of Scots Jacobitism. The title 
" Flowers of Edinburgh" has no man- 
ner of connection with the present 
verses; so I suspect there has been an 
older set of words, of which the title is 
ail that remains. 

By the by, it is singular enough that 
the Scottish Muses were all .Jacobites. 
I have paid more attention to every 
description of Scots songs than per- 



haps any body living has done; and I 
do not recollect one single stanza, or 
even the title of the most trifling Scots 
air, which has the least panegyrical 
reference to the families of Nassau or 
Brunswick, while there are hundreds 
satirising them. This may be thought 
no panegyric on the Scots poets, but I 
mean it as such. For myself, I would 
always take it as a compliment to have 
it said that my heart ran before my 
head; and surely the gallant though 
unfortunate house of Stuart, the kings 
of our fathers for so many heroic ages, 
is a theme much more interesting than 



Mv love was once a bonny lad : 
He was the flower of a' his kin ; 

The absence of his bonny face 
Has rent my tender heart in twain. 

I day nor night find no delight- 
In silent tears I still complain ; 

And exclaim 'gainst those, my rival foes. 
That hae ta'en fra me my darling swain. 

Despair and anguish fill my breast 

Since I have lost my blooming rose: 
I sigh and moan while others rest ; 

His absence yields me no repose. 
To seek my love TU range and rove 

Through every grove and distant plain ; 
Thus I'll never cease, but spend my days 

T' hear tidings from my darling sv/ain. 

There's nothing strange in nature's chant^c, 

Since parents show such cruelty ; 
They caused my love from me to range, 

And know not to what destiny. 
The pretty kids and tender lambs 

May cease to sport upon the plain ; 
But I'll mourn and lament, in deep discontent. 

For the absence of my darling swain. 



JAMIE GAY. 

Jamie gay is another and a tolerable 
Anglo- Scottish piece. 

Of Jamie Gay, it will be enough to quote 
the first lines : — 

" As Jamie Gay gang'd blithe his way." 

A Scottish bard would have written :— 

" As Jamie Gay gaed blithe his way." 

The song was originally entitled " The Hap- 
py Meeting," and frequently used to be sung 
at Ranelagh with great apphiuse. 



MY DEAR JOCKEY 

Another Anglo- Scottish produc- 
tion. 

We subjoin the first two verses of the lady's 
lament :— 



BURNS' WORKS. 



My laddie is gane far away o'er the plain, 
While in sorrow behind I am forced to re- 
main ; [adorn, 
Though blue bells and violets the hedges 
Though trees are in blossom and sweet blows 
the thorn, [gay , 
No pleasure they give me, in vain they look 
There's nothing can please me now jockey's 

away , 
Forlorn I sit smging, and this is my strain, 
" Haste, haste, my dear Jockey, to me back 
again.' 

When lads and their lasses are on the green 
met, [they chat; 

They dance and they sing, and they laugh and 

Contented and happy, with hearts full of glee, 

I can't, without envy, their merriment see . 

Those pleasures offend me, my shepherd's 
not there ' 

No pleasure I relish that Jockey don't share ; 

It makes me to sigh, I from tears scarce re- 
frain, 

I wish my dear Jockey return d back again. 



FYS, 



GAE RUB HER O'ER Wr 
STRAE. 

It is self-evident that the first four 
lines of this song are part of a song 
more ancient than Ramsay's beautiful 
verses which are annexed to them. 
As music is the language of nature, 
and poetry, particularly songs, is al- 
ways less or more localised ( if I may 
be allowed the verb) by some of the 
modifications of time and place, this is 
the reason why so many of our Scots 
airs have outlived their original and 
perhaps many subsequent sets of ver- 
ses, except a single name or phrase, or 
sometimes one or two lines, simjjly to 
distinguish the tunes by. 

To this day, among people who know 
nothing of Ramsay's verses, the follow- 
ing is the song, and all the song that 
ever 1 heard ; 

Gin ye meet a bonny lassie, 
Gie her a kiss and let her gae ; 

But gin ye meet a dirty hizzie, 
Fye, gae rub her o'er wi' strae. 

Fye, gae rub her, rub her, rub her, 
Fye, gae rub her o'er wi' strae . 

And gin ye meet a dirty hizzie, 
Fye, gae rub her o'er wi' strae. 

" Ramsay's spirited imitation," says Cromck, 
*' of the ^ P'ides zct alte stct nive candiduvi^ 
Socrate'' of Horace, is considered as one of tlie 
happiest efforts of the author's genius." — For 
an elegant critique on the poem, and a com- 



parison of its merits with those of the original, 
the reader is referred to Lord Woodhouselee's 
" Remarks on the Writings of Ramsay." 

Look up to Pentland's towering tap. 
Buried beneath great wreaths of snaw, 

O'er ilka cleugh, ilk scar, and slap, 
As high as ony Roman wa'. 

Driving their baws frae whins or tee, 
There are nae gowfers to be seen ; 

Nor dousser fowk wysing a-jee 
The byass-bouls on Tamson's Green. 

Then fling on coals, and ripe the ribs, 
And beek the house baitli but and ben j 

That mutchkin stowp it liauds but diibs, 
Then let's get in the tappil hen. 

Good claret best keeps out the cauld, 
And drives away the Vv'inter soon ; 

It makes a man baith gash and bauld, 
And heaves his soul beyond the moon. 

Let next day come as it thinks fit. 
The present minute's only ours, 

On pleasure let's employ our wit. 
And laugh at Fortune's fickle powers. 

Be sure ye dinna quit the grip 
Of ilka joy when ye are young, 

Before auld age your vitals nip. 
And lay ye twafald o'er a rung. 

Now to her heaving bosom cling. 
And sweetly tastie for a kiss , 

Frae her fair finger whoop a ring, 
As token of a future bliss. 

These benisons, I'm very sure. 
Are of the gods' indulgent grant : 

Then surly carles, whist, forbear 
To plague us wi' your whining cant. 

Sweet youth's a blithe and heartsome time; 

Then, lads and lasses, while-'tis May, 
Gae pu' the gowan in its prime. 

Before it wither and decay. 

Watch the saft minutes of delyte. 
When Jenny speaks beneath her breath, 

And kisses, laying a' the wyte 
On you, if she kept ony skaith. 

" Haith, ye're ill-bred," she'll smiling say; 

" Ye'll worry me, ye greedy rook • " 
Syne frae yer arms she'll rin away. 

And hide hersel in some dark nook. 

Her laugh will lead you to the place 
Where lies the happiness you want, 

And plainly tells you, to your tacc. 
Nineteen nay-says are halt a grant. 

The song of " Fye, gae rub her o'er ivi' 
strae" is composed of the first ionr lines men- 
tioned by Burns, and the seven concluding 
verses of Ramsay's spirited and elegant Scot- 
tish version of Horace's ninth Ode, given 
above. 



REMARKS ON SCOTTISH SONG. 



299 



THE LASS OF LIVINGSTON. 

The old song-, in three eight-line 
stanzas, is welfknown, and lias nierit 
as to wit and humour; but it is rather 
unfit for insertion. — It begins: 

" The bonny loss o' Livins^slon, 

Her name ye ken, her name ye ken, 
And she has written in her contract, 
To He her lane, to lie her lane," &c., &c. 

The modern version by Allan Ramsay is as 
follows :^ 

Pain'd with her slighting Jamie's love, 

Bell dropt a tear, Bell dropt a tear ; 
The gods descended from above, 

Well pleased to hear, well pleased to hear. 
They heard the praises of the youth [tongue, 

From her own tongue, from her own 
Who now converted was to truth, 

And thus she sung, and thus she sung : 

Bless'd days, when our ingenuous sex. 

More frank and kind, more frank and kind. 
Did not their loved adorers vex, 

But spoke their mind, but spoke their mind. 
Repenting now, she promised lair, 

Would he return, v/ould he return, 
She ne'er again would give him care, 

Or cause to mourn, or cause to mourn. 

Why loved T the deserving swain, [shame, 

Yet still thought shame, yet still thought 
When he my yielding heart did gain, 

To own my flame, to own my flame. 
Yv'hy took I pleasure to torment. 

And seem too coy, and seem too coy, 
Which makes me now, alas ! lament 

My slighted joy, my slighted joy. 

Ye fair, while beauty's in its spring, 

Own your desire, own your desire, 
W'iJle love's young power, with his soft wing, 

Fans up the lire, fans up the fire ; 
Oh, do not with a silly pride. 

Or low design, or low design, 
R.ef use to be a happy bride, 

But answer plain, but answer plain. 

Th'is the fair mourner 'wail'd her crime. 

With flowing eyes, with flowing eyes ; 
Glad Jamie heard her all the time 

With sweet surprise, with sweet surprise. 
Some god had led him to the grove, 

His mind unchanged, his mind unchanged, 
^E^ew to her arms, and cried, my love, 

I am revenged, I am revenged. 



THE LAST TIME I CAME O'ER 
THE MOOR. 

Ramsay found the first line of this 
song, which had been preserved as the 
title of the charming air, and then com- 
posed the rest of the verses to suit that 



line. This has always a finer effect 
than composing English wards, or 
words with an idea foreign to the spirit 
of the old title. Where old titles of 
songs convey any idea at all, it will 
generally be found to be quite in the 
spirit of the air. 

"■There are," says Allan Cunningham 
'■' some fine verses in this song, though^some 
fastidious critics pronounce them ovei 
warm :" — 

The last time I came o'er the moor, 

1 left my love behind me : 
Ye powers, what pain do I endure, 

When soft ideas mind me. 
Soon as the ruddy morn display'd, 

The beaming day ensuing, 
I met betimes my lovely maid 

In fit retreats for wooing. 

Beneath the cooling shade we lay. 

Gazing and chastly sporting ; 
We kiss'd and promised time away. 

Till night spread ner black curtain. 
I pitied all beneath the skies. 

Even kings, when she was nigh me ; 
In rapture I beheld her eyes, 

Which could but ill deny me. 

Should I be call'd where cannons roar, 

Where mortal steel may wound me ; 
Or cast upon some foreign shore. 

Where danger may surround me ; 
Yet hopes again to see my love. 

And feast on glowing kisses. 
Shall make my cares at distance move, 

In prospect of such blisses. 

In all my soul there's not one place 

To let a rival enter ; 
Since she excels in every grace. 

In her my love shall centre : 
Sooner the seas shall cease to flow, 

Their v\'aves the Alps shall cover, 
On Greenland ice shall roses grow, 

Before I cease to love her. 

The next time I go o'er the moor, 

She shall a lover find me ; 
And that my faith is firm and pure. 

Though I left her behind me : 
Then Hymen's sacred bonds shall chain, 

My heart to her fair bosom ; 
There, while my being does remain. 

My love more fresh shall blossom. 



JOHNNIE'S GRAY BREERS. 

Though this has certainly every 
evidence of being a Scottish air, yet 
there is a well-known tunc, and song 
in the North of Ireland, called " The 
Weaver and his Shuttle, O," which, 
though sung much quicker, is every 
note the very tune. 



soo 



BURTs^S' WORKS. 



When I was in my se'enteenth year, 

I was baith blithe and bonny, O ; 
The lads loed me baiih far and near; 

But I lo'ed none but Johnnie, O. 
He gain'd my heart in twa three weeks, 

He spak sae blithe and kindly, O ; 
And I made him new gray breeks, 

That fitted him maist finely, O. 

He was a handsome fellow ; 

His humour was baith frank and free ; 
His bonny locks sae yellow. 

Like gowd they glitter'd in my ee ; 
Kis dimpled ohm and rosy cheeks. 

And face sae fair and ruddy, O ; 
And then a-day his gray breeks 

Were neither auld nor duddy, O. 

But now they are threadbare worn. 

They're wider than they wont to be ; 
They're a' tash'd-like, and unco torn, 

And clouted sair on ilka knee. 
But gin I had a simmer's day, 

As I hae had right mony, O, 
I'd make a web o' new gray. 

To be breeks to my Johnnie, O. 

For he's weel worthy o' them, 

And better than I hae to gie ; 
But I'll take pains upo' them. 

And strive frae fau'ts to keep them free= 
To cleed him weel shall be my care, 

And please him a' my study, O ; 
But he maun wear the auld pair 

A wee, though they be duddy. O. 



Ye shepherds so -gay, who make love to 
ensnare, L^^ir ; 

And cheat with false vows the too credulous 

In search of true pleasure how vainly you 
roam ! 

To hold it for life, you must find it at home. 



THE HAPPY MARRIAGE.* 

Another, but very pretty, Anglo- 
Scottisli piece. 

How blest has my time been, what I'oys have 
I known, [own : 

Since wedlock's soft bondage made Jessy my 
So joyful my heart is, so easy my chain. 
That freedom is tasteless, and roving a pain. 

Through walks grown with woodbines, as 

often we stray. 
Around us our boys and girls frolic and play: 
How pleasing their sport is ! the wanton ones 

see. 
And borrow their looks from my Jessy and me. 

To try her sweet temper, ofttimes am I seen, 
In revels all day with the nymphs on the green; 
Though painful my absence, my doubts she 
beguiles, [and smiles. 

And' meets me at night with complaisance 

What though on her cheeks the rose loses its 
hue, [through ; 

Her wit and her humour bloom all the year 

Time still, as he flies, adds increase to her 
truth, [her youth. 

And gives to her mind what he steals from 



*This song was composed by Edward 
VIoore, author of the well-known tragedy of 
jfce " Gamester," and other works> 



THE LASS OF PATIE'S MILL. 

In Sinclair's Statistical Account of 
Scotland, this song is localised (a verb 
I must use for want of another to ex 
press my idea) somewhere in the nort'a 
of Scotland, and is likewise claimed by 
Ayrshire. The following anecdote I 
had from the present Sir William Cun- 
ningham of Robertland, who had it 
from John, the last Earl of Loudon. 
The then Earl of Loudon, and father to 
Earl John before mentioned, had Ram- 
say at Loudon, and one day walking 
together by the banks of Irvine water, 
near New Mills, at a place called Patie's 
Mill, they were struck with the appear- 
ance of a beautiful country girl. His 
lordship observed that she would be a 
fine theme for a song. Allan lagged 
behind in returning to Loudon Castle, 
and at dinner produced this identici.1 
song. 

The lass of Patie's mill. 

So bonny, blithe, and gay, 
In spite of all my skill, 

Hath stole my heart away. 
When tedding of the hay. 

Bare-headed on the green, 
Love midst her locks did play. 

And wanton'd in her een. 

Her arms white, round, and smooth. 

Breasts rising in their dawn. 
To age it would give youth. 

To press them witli'his hand : 
Through all my spirits ran 

An ecstasy of bliss, 
When I such sweetness fand. 

Wrapt in a balmy kiss. 

Without the help of art, 

Like flowers which grace the ■wiid^ 
She did her sweets impart. 

Whene'er she spoke or smiled. 
Her looks they were so mild. 

Free from affected pride. 
She me to love beguiled : 

I wish'd her for my bride. 

Oh, had I all that wealth 
Hopetoun's high mountains fill, 

Insured long life and health, 
And pleasure at my will. 



REMARKS ON SCOTTISH SONG. 



30J 



I'd promise and fulfil, 
That none but bonny she, 

The lass o' Patie's Mill, 
Should share the same wi' me. 



THE TURNIMSPIKE. 

There is a stanza of this excellent 
song for local humour omitted in this 
set where I have placed the aster- 
ims. 

They tak te horse then by te head. 
And tere tey mak her stan', man ; 

Me tell tem, me hae seen te day 
Tey no had sic comman', man. 

A Hicrhlander laments, in k half-serious and 
half-comic way, the privations which the act 
of parliament anent kilts has made him en- 
dure, and the miseries which turnpike roads 
and toll-bars have brought upon his coun- 
try :- 

Hersell pe Highland shentleman, 
Pe auld as Pothwell Prig, man ; 

And mony alterations seen 
Amang te Lawland Whig, man. 

First when her to the Lawlands came, 
Nainsell was driving cows, man ; 

There was nae laws about him's nerse, 
About the preeks or trews, man. 

Nainsell did wear the philabeg. 
The plaid prick't on her shoulder ; 

The guid claymore hung pe her pelt, 
De pistol sharged wi' pouder. 

But for whereas these cursed preeks 
Wherewith l)er nerse be lockit. 

Oh hon ' that e'er she saw the day ! 
For a' her houghs be prokit. 

Every ting in de Highlands now 

Pe turn'd to alteration ; 
The sodger dwall at our door-sheek. 

And tat's te great vexation. 

Scotland be turn't a Ningland now, 
And laws pring on de cadger ; 

Nainsell wad durk him for his deeds. 
But oh ! she fear te sodger. 

Anither law came after that, 

Me never saw te like, man •, 
They mak a lang road on te crund. 

And ca' him Tztrnitnspike^ man. 

And wow ! she pe a pouny road, 
Like louden corn- rigs, man ; 

Where twa carts may gang on her, 
And no preak ither's legs, man. 

They shar^e a penny for ilka horse, 
In troth she'll no be sheaper. 

For nought put gaen upo' the ground. 
And they gie me a paper. 



Nae doubts, himsel maun tra her purse. 
And pay them what hims like, man ; 

I'll see a shudgement on his toor ; 
That filthy Turnimspike, man. 

But I'll awa' to te Highland hills. 

Where teil a ane dare turn her. 
And no come near your Turnimspike, 

Unless it pe to purn her. 



HIGHLAND LADDIE. 

As this was a favourite theme with 
our later Scottish muses, there are 
several airs and songs of that name. . 
That which I take to be the oldest is 
to be found in the Mimrcd Museum, 
beginning " I hae been at Crookieden. ' 
One reason for my thinking so is tliat 
Oswald has it in his collection by the 
name of " The auld Highland Laddie. ' 
It is also known by the name of ' ■ Jing- 
lan Johnnie," which is a well-known 
song of four or five stanzas, and seems 
to be an earlier song than Jacobite 
times. As a proof of this, it is littlo 
known to the peasantry by the name of 
" Highland Laddie," while every body- 
knows ' ' Jinglan Johnnie. " The song 
begins 

Jinglan John, the meikle man, 
He met wi' a lass was blithe and bonny. 

x\nother ** Highland Laddie" is also 
in the Museum, vol. v., which I take 
to be Ramsay's original, as he has bor- 
rowed the chorus — "Oh, my bonny 
Highland lad," &c. It consists of three 
stanzas, besides the chorus, and has 
humour in its composition; it is an ex 
cellent, but somewliat licentious song. 
It begins 

As I cam o'er Cairney-Mount, 

And down amang the blooming heather 
Kindly stood the milking-shiel. 

To shelter frae the stormy weather. 

Oh, my bonny Highland lad. 

My v.'insome, wcel-fard Highland laddie ; 
Wha wad mind the wind and rain, 

Sae weel rcw'd in his tartan plaidie ? 

Now Phoebus blinkit on the bent, [ing"! 

And o'er the knowes the lambs were bleat 
But he w.in my heart's consent 

To be his ain at the neist xueetmg. 

Oh, my bonny Highland lad. 

My winsome, weel-fard Highland laddie ; 
Wha v;ad mind tlic v.ind and rain, 

Sae weel rovv^'d in his tartan plaidie ? 



802 



BURNS' WORKS. 



This air and the common "Highland 
Laddie" seem only to be different sets. 

Another " Highland Laddie," also in 
the Museum, vol. v., is the tune of 
several Jacobite fragments.- One of 
these old songs to it only exists, as far 
as I know, in these four lines: — 

Whare hae ye been a' day, 

Bonny laddie, Hii;hland laddie? 

Down the back o' IJcll's brae, 
Courtin' Magf^ic, courtin' Maggie." 

Another of this name is Dr. Arne's 
beautiful air called the new " Highland 
Laddie." 



THE GENTLE SWAIN. 

To sing such a beautiful air to such 
execrable verses is downright prostitu- 
tion of common sense! The Scots 
verses indeed are tolerable. 

The Scottish version, written by Mr. Mayne, 
commences thus :— 

Jeanie's heart was frank and free, 

And wooers she had mony yet, 
Her song was aye, Of a' I see. 

Commend me to my Johnny yet. 
For air and late he iias sic a gate 

To make a body cheery, that 
I wish to be, before I die, 

His am kind dearie yet. 



HE STOLE MY TENDER HEART : 
AWAY. I 

This is an Anglo-Scottish production, 
but by no means a bad one. 
The following is a specimen : — 

The fields were gr-'-en, the hills were gay, 
And birds were singing on each spray, 
When Colin met me in'the grove. 
And told me tender tales of love. 
Was ever swain so blithe as he. 
So kind, so faithful and so free ? 
In spite of all my friends could say, 
Young Colin stole my heart away. 



finished, else, had I known in time, f 
would have prevented such an impu- 
dent absurdity. 

The following is a complete copy of Percj s 
beautiful lines :— 

O Nancy, wilt thou go with me. 

Nor sigh to leave the flauntmg town? 
Can silent glens have charms for thee. 

The lowly cot and russet gown ? 
No longer drest in silken sheen, 

No longer deck'd with jewels rare, 
Say, canst thou quit each courtly scene. 

Where thou wert fairest of the fair? 

O Nancy, when thou'rt far away, 

Wilt thou not cast a wish behind ? 
Say, canst thou face the p-irching ray. 

Nor shrink before the wintry wind ? 
Oh, can that soft and gentle mien 

Extremes of hardship learn to bear; 
Nor, sad, regret each courtly scene, 

Where thou wert fairest of the fair? 

O Nancy ! canst thou love so true, 

Through perils keen with me to go, 
Or when thy swain mishap shall rue. 

To sliare with him the pang of woe ? 
Say, should disease or pain befall. 

Wilt thou assume the nurse's care. 
Nor wistful those gay scenes recall. 

Where thou wert fairest of the fair? 

And when at last thy love shall die. 

Wilt thou receive his parting breath .' 
Wilt thou repress each struggling sigh, 

And cheer with smiles the bed of death ? 
And wilt thnu o'er his breathless clay 

Strew flowers and drop the tender tear. 
Nor then regret those scenes so gay 

Where thou wert fairest of the fair ? 

" This, writes Burns, " is perhaps the most 
beautiful ballad in the English language." 



FAIREST OF THE FAIR. 

It is too barefaced to take Dr. 
Percy's charming song, and, by means 
of transposing a few Englisli words 
into Scots, to offer to pass it for a Scots 
Bong. — I was not acquainted with the 
editor until the first volume was nearly 



THE BLAITHRIE OT. 

The following is a set of this song, 
which was the earliest song I remem- 
ber to have got by heart. When a 
child, an old woman sung it to me, and 
I picked it up, every word at first 
hearing. 

O Willy, weel 1 mind, I lent you my hand 
To sing you a song which you did me com- 
mand ; 
But my memory's so bad, I had almost forgot 
That you call'd it the gear and the blaithrieo't. 

I'll not sing about confusion, delusion ncr 
pride, [bride ; 

I'll sing about a laddie was for a virtuous 

For virtue is an ornament that time will never 
rot, 

And preferable to gear and t>i blaithrie o't. 



REMARKS ON SCOTTISH SONG. 



303 



Though my lassie hae nae scarlets nor silks to 
put on, [throne ; 

We envy not the greatest that sits upon the 

1 wad rather hae my lassie, though she cam 
in her smock, [o't. 

Than a princess \vi' the gear and the blaithrie 

Though we hae nae horses nor menzie* at 
command ; [our hand \ 

We will toil on our foot, and we'll work wi' 

And when wearied without rest, we'll find it 
sweet many spat, [o't. 

And we'll value not the gear and the blaithrie 

If we hae ony babies, we'll count them as 
lent ; [tent ; 

Hae we less, hae we mair, we will aye be con- 

For they say they hae mair pleasure that wins 
but a groat [o't. 

Than the miser wi' his gear and the blaithrie 

I'll not meddle wi' the affairs o' the kirk or 
the queen ; [sink, let them swim ; 

They're nae matters for a sang, let them 

On your kirk I'll ne'er encroach, but I'll hold 
it still remote, 

Sae tak this for the gear and the blaithrie o't. 



MAY EVE OR KATE OF ABER- 
DEE2>r, 

Kate of Aberdeen" is, I believe, 
tlie Vv^ork of poor Cunningliam the 
player; of ^vllOln the following anec- 
dote, though told before, deserves a 
recital. A fat dignitary of the chnrch 
coming past Cunningham one Sunday,' 
as the poor poet was busy plying a 
fishing-rod in some stream near Dur- 
ham, his native county, his reverence 
reprimanded Canningham very severe- 
ly for such an occupation on such a 
day. The poor poet, with that in- 
offensive gentleness of manners which 
was his peculiar characteristic, replied, 
that he hoped Gfod and his reverence 
would forgive his seeming profanity of 
that sacred day, " as lielmdno dinner 
to eat hut tchai lay ai the bottom of that 
o).')ol I" This, Mr. Woods, the player, 
who knew Cunningham well, and' es- 
teemed him much, assured me was 
true. 

The silver moon's enamour'd beam 
Steals softly through the night, 

To wanton with the winding stream, 
And kiss reflected light. 

* ^/?;;2/>— -Retinue, followers. 



To beds of state go, balmy Sleep, 

Where you've so seldom been, 
Whilst I May's wakeful vigils keep 

With Kate of Aberdeen ! 

The nymphs and swains expectant wait» 

In primrose chaplets g"ay, 
Till morn unbars her golden gate, 

And gives the promised May. 
The nymphs and swains shall all declare 

The promised May, when seen, 
Not half so fragrant, half so fair, 

As Kate of Aberdeen ! 

ru tune my pipe to playful notes, 

And lOuse yon nodding grove ; 
Till new-waked birds distend their throats, 

And hail the maid I love. 
At her approach the lark mistakes, 

And quits the new-dress'd green : 
Fond bird ! 'tis not the morning breaks ; 

'Tis Kate of Aberdeen i 

Now blithesome o'er the dewy mead, 

Where elves disportive play ; 
The festal dance young shepherds lead, 

Or sing tl.cir love-tuned lay. 
Till May in morning robe draws nigh, 

And claims a Virgin Queen ; 
The nymphs and swains, exulting, cry. 

Here 3 Kate of Aberdeen ! 



TWEED-SIDE. 

Iisr Ramsay's Tea-table Miscellany, liG 
tells us that about thirty of the songs 
in that publication were the works of 
some young gentlemen of his acquaint- 
ance, which-songs are marked with 
the letters D. C, &c.— Old Mr. Tytler 
of Woodhouselee, the worthy and able 
defender of the beauteous Queen of 
Scots, told me that the songs marked 
C. in tho Tea-table were the composi- 
tion of a Mr. Crawford, of the house of 
Achnames, who was afterwards unfor- 
tunately drov/ned coming from France. 
As Tytler was most intimately ac- 
quainted -with Allan Ramsay, I think 
the anecdote may be depended on. Of 
consequence, the beautiful song of 
Tweed-side is Mr, Crawford's, and in. 
deed does great honour to his poetical 
talents. He was a Robert Crawford; 
the Mary he celebrates was a Mary 
Stuart, of the Castl-5-Milk family,* 

* In a copy of Cromek's Reliques of Burns 
there is the follawing note on this passage in 
Sir Walter Scott's handwriting : — " Miss Mar^ 
Lilhas Scott was tho eldest daughter of John 
Scott of Harden, and well known in ♦*)* 



804 



BURNS' WORKS. 



afterwards married to a Mr. John Rit- 
chie. 

I have seen a song, calling itself the 
original Tweed-side, and said to have 
been composed by a Lord Yester. It 
consisted of two stanzas, of which I 
still recollect the first — 

When Msiggy and I was acquaint, 

I carried my noddle fu' high ; 
Nae lintwhite on a' the green plain, 

Nor gowdspink, sae happy as I ; 
But I saw her sae fair, and I lo'd : 

I woo'd, but I cam nae great speed ; 
So now I maun wander abroad, 

And lay my banes far frae the Tweed. t 

The following is Crawford's song, which is 
still popular: — 

What beauties doth Flora disclose ! 

How sweet are her smiles upon Tweed ! 
Yet Mary's, still sweeter than those, 

Both nature and fancy exceed, 
Nor daisy, nor sweet blushing rose. 

Nor all the gay flowers of the field. 
Nor Tweed, gliding gently through those, 

Such beauty and pleasure do yield. 

The warblers are heard in the grove, 

The linnet, the lark, and the thrush, 
The blackbird and sweet cooing dove 

With music enchant every bush. 
Come, let us go forth to the mead, 

Let us see how the primroses spring, 
We'll lodge in some village on Tweed, 

And love while the feather'd folks sing. 

How does my love pass the long day ? 

Does Mary not tend a few sheep ? 
Do they never carelessly stray ? 

While happily she lies asleep ? 



fashionable world by the nick-name of Cadie 
Scott, I believe, because she went to a masked 
ball in such a disguise. I remember her, an 
old lady, distinguished for elegant manners 
and high spirit, though struggling 
under the disadvantages of a narrow mcome, 
as her father's estate, being entailed on heirs 
male, went to another branch of the Harden 
family, then called the High Chester family. 
I have heard a hundred times, from those who 
lived at the period, that Tweed-side, and the 
song called Mary '.Jcott, the Flower of Yarrow, 
were both written upon this much-admired 
lady, and could add much proof on the subject, 
did space permit." 

t The following is the other stanza : — 

To Maggy ray love I did tell, 

Saut tears did my passion express ; 
Alas ! for I lo'ed her o'er well. 

And the women lo'e'sic a man less. 
Her heart it was frozen and cauld. 

Her pride had my ruin decreed ; 
Therefore I will wander abroad, 

And lay my banes far frae the Tweed. 



Tweed's murmurs should lull her to rest. 
Kind nature indulging my bliss, 

To ease the soft pains of my breast, 
I'd steal an ambrosial kiss. 

*Tis she does the virgin excel. 

No beauty with her may compare : 
Love's graces around her do dwell. 

She's fairest, where thousands arc fair. 
Say, charmer, Avhere do thy flock stray ? 

Oh ! tell me at noon where they feed r^ 
Is it on the sweet wending Tay, 

Or pleasanter banks of the Tweed ? 



THE POSIK 

It appears evident to me that Oswald 
composed his "Koslin Castle" on the 
modulation of this air. ••■ — In the second 
part of Oswald's, in the three first bars, 
he has either hit on a wonderful simil- 
arity to, or else he has entirely borrow- 
ed, the three first bars of the old air; 
and the close of both tunes is almost 
exactly the same. The old verses to 
wliicli it was sung, when I took down 
the notes from a country girl's voice, 
had no great merit. — The following is 
a specimen: — 

There was a pretty may,^ and a milkin' she 

went, [hair ; 

Wi' her red rosy cheeks and her coal black 

And she has met a young man a comin' o'er 
the bent, 

. With a double and adieu to thee, fair may. 

Oh, where are ye goin', my ain pretty may, 
Wi' thy red rosy cheeks and thy coal black 
hair? 

Unto the yowes a milkin', kind sir, she says. 
With a double and adieu to thee, fair may. 

What if I gang alang wi' thee, my ain pretty 

may, [liair ? 

Wi' thy red rosy cheeks and thy coal black 

Wad I be aught the warse o' that, kind sir, 

she says. 

With a double and adieu to thee, fair may* 



MARY'S DREAM. 

The Mary here alluded to is gener- 
ally supposed to be Miss Mary M'Gliie, 
daughter to the Laird of Airds, in 
Galloway. The poet was a Mr. John 

1 Maid. 
* This i.^ a mistake—Oswald was not the 
composer of Roshn Castle, 



REMARKS ON SCOTTISH SONG. 



305 



Lowe.f who likewise wrote another 
beautiful song, called Pompey's Ghost. 
— I have seen a poetic epistle from him 
in North America, where he now is, or 
lately was, to a lady in Scotland. — By 
the strain of the verses, it appeared 
that they allude to some love affair. 

The moon had climbed the highest hill 

Which rises o'er the source of Dee, 
And from the eastern summit shed 

Her silver light on tower and tree, 
When Mary laid her down .to sleep. 

Her thoughts on Sandy far at sea ; 
When, soft and low, a voice she heard, 

Saymg, " Mary, weep no more for me !" 

She from her pillow gently raised 

Her head to ask who there might be ; 
She saw young Sandy shivering stand, 

With visage pale and hollow ee : 
O Mary dear ! cold is my clay, 

It lies beneath a stormy sea ; 
Far, far from thee I sleep in death. — 

So, Mary, weep no more for me ! 

Three stormy nights and stormy days 

We toss'd upon the raging main. 
And long we strove our bark to save, 

But all our striving was in vain. 
Even then, when horror chill'd my blood, 

My lieart was fill'd with love for thee ; 
The storm is past, and I at rest, 

So, Mary, weep no more for me ! 

O maiden dear, thySelf prepare, 

We soon shall meet upon that shore 
Where love is free from doubt and care. 

And thou and I shall part no more. 
Loud crow'd the cock, the shadow fled, 

No more of Sandy could she see ; 
But soft the passing spirit said, 

" Sweet Mary, weep no more for me !" 



THE MAID THAT TENDS THE 
GOATS. 

BY MR. DUDGEON. 

This Dudgeon is a respectable farm- 
er's son in Berwickshire - 



t He was a native of Kenmore in Galloway, 
and was employed as a tutor in the family of 
M'Ghie of Airds, about 1770, when the inci- 
dent recorded in the song occurred. Miss 
Mary M Ghie, a daughter of his employer's, 
having been betrothed to a young gentleman 
of the name of Miller, who was at this time 
unfortunately lost at sea, Lowe commemor- 
ated the melancholy event in the above beau- 
tiful song. He afterwards emigrated to the 
United States, where he made an unfortunate 
piarriage, the ^nef occasioned by which drove 
hiqa mto dissipated habits, that brought him 
pi an e^rly grave, 



Up amang yon cliffy rocks. 

Sweetly rings the rising echo. 

To the maid that tends the goats, 

Lilting o'er her native notes. 

Hark, she sings. Young Sandie's kind, 

And he's promised aye to lo'e me. 

Here's a brooch, I ne'er shall line. 

Till he's fairly married to me. 
Drive away, ye drone Time, 
And bring about our bridal day. 

Sandy herds a flock o' sheep, 

Aften does he blaw the whistle, 

In a strain sae vastly sweet, 

Lam'ies listening dare na bleat ; 

He's as fleet's the mountain roe. 

Hardy as the Highland heather. 

Wading through the winter snow. 

Keeping aye his flock together ; 
But wi' plaid and bare houghs 
He braves the bleakest northern blast. 

Brawly he can dance and sing. 
Canty glee, or Highland cronach: 
Nane can ever match his fling. 
At a reel, or round a ring : 
Wightly can he wield a rung. 
In a brawl he's aye the baughter; 
A' his praise can ne'er be sung 
By the langest winded sangster. 

Sangs that sing o' Sandy, 

Seem short, though they were e'er sae lang". 



I WISH MY LOVE WERE IN A 
MIRE. 

I NEVER lieard more of the words of 
this old song than the title. 

The old song began with these character- 
istic words — 

I wish my love were in a mire. 
That I might pu' her out again. 

The verses in the Museuvt are merely a 
translation from Sappho by Ambrose i\i'.l- 
hps :— 

Blest as the immortal gods is he, 
The youth who fondly sits by thee. 
And hears and sees thee all the while, 
So softly speak and sweetly smile. 

'Twas this bereaved my soul of rest. 
And raised such tumults in my breast. 
For while I gazed, in transport toss'd, 
My breath was gone, my voice was lost. 

My bosom glow'd, the subtle flame 
Ran quick through all my vital frame; 
O'er my dim eyes a darkness hung, 
My ears with hollow murmurs rung. 

In dewy damps my limbs were chill'd^ 
My blood with gentle horrors thriU'd; 
My feeble pulse forgot to play .- 
I iamted— sunk— and died away. 



306 



BURNS' WORKS. 



ALLAN WATER. 

This Allan Water, wliicli the com- 
poser of the music has honoured with 
the name of the air, I have been told is 
Allan Water in Strathallan. 

What numbers shall the muse repeat, 

What verse be found to praise my Annie ; 
On her ten thousand graces wait, 

Each swam admires and owns she's bonny. 
Since first she strode the happy plain, 

She set each youthful heart on fire ; 
Each nymph does to her swam complain, 

That Annie kindles new desire. 

This lovely, darling, dearest care. 

This new delight, this charmmg Annie, 
Like summer's dawn she's fresh and fair, 

When Flora's fragrant breezes fan ye. 
All day the am'rous youths convene. 

Joyous they sport and play before her ; 
All night, when she no more is seen. 

In joyful dreams they still adore her. 

Among the crowd Amyntor came, 

He look'd, he lov'd, he bovv'd to Annie ; 
His rising sighs express his flame. 

His words were few, his wishes many. ' 
With smiles the lovely maid replied, . - 

Kind shepherd, why should I deceive ye? 
Alas ! your love must be denied, 

This destined breast can ne'er relieve ye. 

Young Damon came with Cupid's art, 

His wiles, his smiles, his charms beguiling; 
Pie stole away my virgin heart ; 

Cease, poor Amyntor ! cease bewailing. 
Some brighter beauty you may find ; 

On 3'onder plain the nymphs are many : 
Then choose some heart that's unconfined. 

And leave to Damon his own Anaie. 



THERE'S NAE LUCK 
THE HOUSE.* 



ABOUT 



This is one of the most beautiful 
songs in the Scots, or any other, lan- 
guage. — The two lines, 

And will I see his face again ? 
And I will hear him speak? 

as well as the two preceding ones, are 
unequalled almost by anything I ever 
heard or read; and the lines, 

The present moment is our ain. 
The neist we never saw. 



* William Julius Mickle, a native of Lang- 
holm, on the Borders, and well known as the 
translator of Camoens' immortal poem, " The 
Lusiad," was the author of this song. He 
was born in 1734, and died in 1788. 



are worthy of tlie first poet. It is long 
posterior to Ramsay's days. About the 
year 1771, or 1772, it came first 011 the 
streets as a ballad ; and I ?uppa^e tb^ 
composition of the song was no% miH"^ 
anterior to that period. 

There's nae luck about the house* 

There's nae luck at a' ; 
There's little pleasure in the houso 

When our guidman's awa'. 

And are you sure the news is true ? 

And do you say he's weel ? 
Is this a time to speak of wark ? 

Ye jades, lay by your wheel ! 
Is this a time to spin a thread, 

When Colin's at the door? 
Reach me ray cloak, I'll to the quay 

And see him come ashore. 

And gie to me my bigonet, 

My bishop's satin gown ; 
For I maun tell the bailie's wife 

That Colin's in the town. 
My turken slippers maun gae on. 

My stockings pearly blue ; 
'Tis a' to pleasure my guidman, 

For he's baith leal and true. 

Rise, lass, and make a clean firesid 

Put on the muckle pot ; 
Gie little Kate her button gown. 

And Jock his Sunday coat ; 
And mak their shoon as black as b'laes 

Their hose as white as snav/ ; 
'Tis a' to pleasure my guidman, 

For he's been lang awa'. 

There's twa fat hens upo' the coop, 

Been fed this month and mair ; 
Mak haste and thraw their necks about. 

That Colin weel may fare ; 
And mak the table neat and trim ; 

Let every thing be braw ; 
For who kens how my Colin fared 

When he was far awa'. 

Sae true his heart, sae smooth his speech. 

His breath like caller air. 
His very foot hat/i music int^ 

As lie comes up the stair. 
A nd shall I see his /ace as^aln ? 

And shall I hear him speak ? 
I'm downright giddy wi' the thought, 

In truth I'm like to greet. 

If Colin's weel, and weel content, 

I hae nae mair to crave ; 
And gin I live to mak him sae, 

I'm blest aboon the lave. 
And shall I see his face again ? &c. 



TARRY WOO. 

This is a very pretty song: but I fancy 
that the following first half -stanza, a? 



REMARKS ON SCOTTISH SONG. 



307 



well as tlie tune itself, is much older 
tlian tlie rest of tlie words. 

Oh, tarry woo is ill lo spin, 
Card it weel e'er ye begin ; 
Card it weel and draw it sma', 
Tarry woo's the bo&t of a'. 



GRAMACHREE. 

The song of Gramacliree was com- 
posed by Mr Poe, a counsellor at law 
in Dublin. This anecdote I had from 
a gentleman who knew the lady, the 
"Molly," who is the subject of the 
song, and to whom Mr. Poe sent the 
first^ manuscript of these hiost beauti- 
ful verses. I do not rem.ember any 
single line that has more true pathos 
than 

How can she break the honest heart that 
wears her in its core ; 

But as the song is Irish, it had nothing 
to do in this collection. 

As down on Banna's banks I stray'd, 

One evening in May, 
The little birds in blithest notes 

Made vocal every spray . 
They sang their little notes of love: 

They sang them o'er and o'er. 
Ah ! gramachree, mo challie nouge, 

Mo Molly Astore. 

The daisy pied , and all the sweets 

The dawn of nature yields ; 
The primrose pale, the violet blue, 

Lay scatter'd o'er the tields , 
Such fragrance m the bosom lies 

Of her whom I adore, 
Ah ' gramachree, mo challie nouge, 

Mo Molly Astore. 

I laid me down upon a bank, 

Bewailing my sad fate. 
That doom'd me thus the slave of love, 

And cruel Molly's hate. 
How can she break the honest heart 

That wears her in its core ' 
Ah 1 gramachree, mo challie nouge. 

Mo Molly Astore. 

You said you loved me, Molly dear • 

Ah ! why did I believe ? 
Yes, who could think such tender words 

Were meant but to deceive ? 
That love was all I ask'd on earth, 

Nay, heaven could give no more^ 
Ah ! gramachree, mo challie nouge, 

Mo Molly Astore. 

Oh : had I all the flocks that graze, 

On yonder yellovvf hill ; 
Or low'd for me the num'rous herds, 

That yon green pastures fill • 



With her I love I'd gladly share 

My kine and fleecy store. 
Ah ! gramachree, mo challie nouge, 

Mo Molly Astore. 

Two turtle doves above my head. 

Sat courting on a bough ; 
I envy'd them their happiness, 

To see them bill and coo j 
Such fondness once for me she show'd, 

But now, alas ! 'ris o'er : 
Ah ! gramachree, mo challie nou^^e. 

Mo Molly Astore. 

Then fare thee well, n-,y Molly dear. 

Thy loss I still shall nioan ; 
Whilst life remains in Strephon's heart, 

'Twill beat for thee alone 
Though thou art false, may Heaven on thee 

Its choicest blessings pour ! 
Ah ! gramachree, mo challie nouge, 

Mo Mollie Astore. 



THE COLLIER'S BONN! LASSIE 

The first half stanza is much older 
than the days of Ramsay. —The old 
words began thus: — 

The collier has a dochter, and, oh, she's won- 
der bonny ; [lands and money. 

A laird he was that soupht her. rich baith in 

She wad nae hae a laird, nor wad she b." a 
lady; fdaddie. 

But she wad hae a collier, the colour o' her 

The verses in the Museum are very pretty ; 
but Allan Ramsay's songs have always nature 
to recommend them : — 

The Collier has a daughter, 

And oh, she's wond'er bonny! 
A laird he was that sought her^ 

Rich baith in land nnd money» 
The tutors watch'd the motion 

Of this young honest lover, 
But^love is like the ocean , 

Wha can its deeps discover? 

He had the heart to please ye, 

And was by a' respected. 
His airs sat round him easy. 

Genteel, but unaffected, 
The Collier's bonny lassie, 

Fair as the new-blown lily. 
Aye sweet and never saucy. 

Secured the heart of Willie. 

He loved beyond expression. 

The charms that were about her^ 
And panted for possession. 

His life was dull without her. 
After mature resolving, 

Close to his breast he held her 
Insafiest llam.es dissolving. 

He tenderly thus tell'd tier— 

'■ My bonny Collier's daughter 
Let naething discompose ye, 

'Tis no your scanty tocher 
Shall ever gar me lose ye , 



BURNS' WORKS 



For 1 have gear in plenty. 

And love says 'tis my duty 
To wear what Heaven has lent me. 

Upon your wit and beauty " 



MY AIN KIND DEARIE, O. 

The old words of tliis song are omit- 
(xd here, tliougli much more beautiful 
than these inserted: which were mostly 
composed by poor Fergusson, in one of 
his merry humours. The old words 
began thus; — • 

I'll rowe thee o'er the lea-rig. 

My ain kind dearie, O. 
I'll rowe thee oer the lea-rig, 

My ain kind dearie, O, 
Althoug^h the night were ne'er sae wat. 

And 1 were ne'er sae weary, O, 
I'll rowe thee o'er the lea-rig, 

My ain kind dearie, O. 

The following are Fergusson's verses. — 

Nae herds wi' kent and collie there 
Shall ever come to fear ye. O, 

But laverocks whistling in the air. 
Shall woo, like me, their dearie, O ! 

While others herd their lambs and ewes, 
And toil for world's gear, my jo. 

Upon the lee my pleasure grows, 
Wi' you, my kind dearie, O ! 

Will ye gang o'er the lea-rig. 

My ain kind dearie, O ? 
And cuddle there, sae kindly wi' me. 

My kind dearie, O ! 

At thorny dike, and birkin tree. 
We'll daff, and ne'er be weary, G ! 

They'll sing ill e'en frae you and me, 
My am kind dearie, O ! 



MARY SCOTT, THE FLOWER OF 
YARROW. 

Me. Robehtson, in his statistical 
account of the parish of Selkirk, says, 
that Mary Scott, the Flower of Yar- 
row, was descended from the Dryhope, 
and married into the Harden family. 
Her daughter was married to a prede- 
cessor of the present Sir Francis Elliot 
of Stobbs, and of the late Lord Heath - 
field. 

There is a circumstance in their con- 
tract of marriage that merits attention, 
and it strongly marks the predatory 
spirit of the times. The father-in-law 



agrees to keep his daughter for some 
time after the marriage; for which the 
son-in->aw binds himself to give him 
the profits of the lirst Michaelmas 



Allan Ramsay's version is as fol- 
lows : — 

Happy's the love which meets return. 
When in soft flame souls ecjual burn ; 
But words are wanting to discover 
The torments of a hapless lover. 
Ye registers of heaven, relate. 
If looking o cr the rolls of fate. 
Did you there see me mark'd to marrow ; 
Mary Scott, the flower of Yarrow. 

Ah, no ! her form's too heavenly fair. 
Her love the gods alone must share ; 
While mortals with despair explore her. 
And at a distance due adore her. 
O lovely maid ! my doubts beguile. 
Revive and bless me with a smile. 
Alas, if not, you'll soon debar a 
Sighing swain on the hank.s of Yarrow. 

Be hush'd, yc fears ! I'll not despair. 
My Mary's tender as she's fair ; 
Then Fll go tell her all mine anguish. 
She is too good to let me languish ; 
With success crown'd, I'll not envy 
The folks w ho dwell above the sky ; 
When Mary Scott's becom_e my marrow. 
We'll make a paradise of Yarrow, 



DOWN THE BURN, DAVIE. 

I HAYE been informed that the tun« 
of " Down the Burn, Davie," was the 
composition of David Maigh, keeper 
of the blood slough-hounds, belonging 
to the Laird of Riddel, in Tweeddale. 

When trees did bud, and fields were green, 

And broom bloom'd fair to see ; 
When Mary'was complete fifteen, 

And love laugh'd in her ee ; 
Blithe Davie's blinks her heart did move. 

To speak her mind thus free, 
" Gang down the burn, Davie, love, 

And I shall follow thee." 

Now Davie did each lad surpass 

That dwalt on yon burn side. 
And Mary was the bonniest lass, 

Just meet to be a bride ; 
Her cheeks were rosy, red and white, 

Her een were bonny blue : 
Her looks were like Aurora bright, 

Her lips like dropping dew. 



* The time w^hen the moss-troopers and 
cattle-reavers on the Borders began of yore 
their nightly depredations. 



REMARKS ON SCOTTISH SONG. 



30} 



As down the burn they took their way, 

What tender tales they said ! 
His cheek to hers he aft did lay. 

And with her bosom play'd ; 
Till baith at length impatient grown 

To be mair fully blest, 
In yonder vale they lean'd them down — 

Love only saw the rest. 

What pass'd I guess was harmless play, 

And naething sure unmeet : 
For ganging hame, I heard them say. 

They liked a walk sae sweet ; 
And that they aften should return 

Sic pleasure to renew, 
Quoth Mary, " Love, I like the burn, 

And aye shall follow you." 



SWEET 



BLINK O'ER THE BURN, 

BETTY. 
The old words, all that I remember, 



Bunk over the burn, sweet Betty, 

It is a cauld winter night ; 
It rains, it hails, it thunders, 

The moon she gies nae light : 
It's a' for the sake o' sweet Betty 

That ever I tint my way ; 
Sweet, let me lie beyond thee 

Until it be break o' day. 

Oh, Betty will bake my bread. 

And Betty will brew my ale, 
And Betty will be my love. 

When I come over the dale ; 
Blink over the burn, sweet Betty, 

Blink over the burn to me, 
And while I hae life, dear lassie. 

My ain sweet Betty thou's be. 



THE BLITHESOME BRIDAL.* 

I FIND tlie " Blithesome Bridal " in 
James Watson's collection of Scots 
Poems printed at Edinburgh, in 1708. 
This collection, the publisher says, is 
the first of its nature which has been 
published in our own native Scots dia- 
lect — it is now extremely scarce. 

The entire song is much too long for quota- 
tion ; but the following verses, describing the 
guests who were to be present and the dishes 
to be provided for them, will convey a very 
fair idea of its merit : — 

Come, fye, let us a' to the wedding. 
For there will be lilting there, 

* There appears to be some dubiety about 
the authorship of this humnrous ballad, it 
having been assigned to Sir William Scott of 
Thiriestane and Francis SempiU of Beltrees. 



For Jock will be married to Maggie, 
The lass wi' the gowden hair. 

And there will be lang kail and castocks, 
And bannocks o' barley-meal ; 

And there will be guid saut herring, 
To relish a cog o' guid ale. 

And there will be Sandy the sutor. 

And Will wi' the meiklc inou. 
And there will be Tam tlic bla-Lter, 

With Andrew the tinkler, 1 irow; 
And there will be bow-lc^'gd Robie, 

With thumbless Katie's gudeman. 
And there will be blue-chcek"d Dobbie, 

And Laurie, the laird of the land. 

And there will be sow-libber Patie, 

And plookie-faced Wat o' the mill ; 
Capper-nosed Francis and Gibbie, 

'that vvons i' the Howe o' the hill; 
And there will be Alister Sibbie, 

Wha in wi' black Bessie did mod. 
With snivelling Liilie and Tibbie, 

The lass that stands aft on the stooi. 



And there will be fadges and brochan, 

Wi' routh o' gude gabbocks o' skate ; 
Powsovvdie and drammock and crowdie. 

And caller nowt feet on a plate ; 
And there will be partans and buckles. 

And whitings and speldings anew ; 
With singed sheep heads and a haggis. 

And scadlips to sup till ye spew. 

And there will be lapper'd milk kebbuck, 

And sowens, and carles, and laps ; 
Wi' swats and well-scraped paunches. 

And brandy in stoups and in caps ; 
And there will be meal-kail and porridge* 

Wi' skirk to sup till ye rive, 
And roasLs to roast on a brander. 

Of flewks that were taken alive, 

ocrapt haddocks, wilks, dulse, and tangle. 

And a mill o' guid sneeshin to prie. 
When weary wi* eating and drinKing. 

We'll rise up and dance till we die : 
Then fye let's a' to the bridal. 

For there will be lilting there. 
For Jock '11 be married to Maggie, 

The lass wi' the gowden hair. 



JOHN HAY'S BONNY LASSIE, 

John Hay's "Bonny Lassie" was the 
daughter of John Hay, Earl or Mar- 
quis of Tweeddale, and the late Count- 
ess Dowager of Roxburgh. She died 
at Broomlands, near Kelso, some time 
between the years 1720 and 1740. 

She's fresh as the spring, and sweet as Aurora, 
When birds mount and sing, bidding day a 

good morrow ; 
The sward o' the mead, enamel'd wi'daisies. 
Look wither'd and dead when twinn'd of hel 

graces. 
But if she appear v/here verdures invi'x her. 



310 



BURNS' WORKS. 



The fountains run clear, and flowers smell the 

sweeter ; 
Tis heaven to be by when her wit is a-flow- 

Her smiles and bright een set my spirits 
a-glowing. 



THE BONNY BRUCEET LASSIE. 

The first two lines of tliis song are 
all of it that is old. The rest of the 
song, as well as those songs in the 
Museum marked T. , are the works of 
an obscure, tippling, but extraordinary 
body of the name of Tytler, commonly 
known by the name of* Balloon Tytler, 
from his having projected a balloon: 
a mortal, who, though, he drudges 
about Edinburgh as a common printer, 
with leaky shoes, a sky-lighted hat, 
and knee-buckles as unlike as George- 
by-the-grace-of-God, and Solomon-tlie- 
son-of-DaviQ; yet that same unknown 
drunken mortal is author and com- 
piler of three-fourths of Elliot's pomp- 
ons Encyclopedia Britannica, which 
he composed at half-a-guinea a week ! 

The bonny brucket lassie, 

She's blue beneath the een ; 
She was the fairest lassie 

That danced on the green : 
A lad he lo'ed her dearly, 

She did his love return ; 
But he his vows has broken. 

And left her for to mourn. * 

'' My shape," says she, '' was handsome, 

My face was fair and clean ; 
But now I'rn bonny brucket, 

And blue beneath the een : 
My eyes were bright and sparkling. 

Before that they turn'd blue ; 
But now they're dull with v/eeping. 

And a', my love, for you. 

" Oh, could I live in darkness, 

Or hide me in the sea. 
Since my love is unfaithful, 

And has forsaken me, 
No other love I suffer'd 

Within my breast to dwell ; 
In nought have I offended. 

But loving him too well." 

Her lover heard her mourning, 

As by he chanced to pass ; 
And press'd unto his bosom 

The lovely brucket lass. 
" My dear," said he, " cease grieving ; 

Smce that your love is true, 
My bonny brucket lassie, 

I'll faithful prove to vou." 



SAE MERRY AS WE TWA HAB 
BEEN. 

Tins song is beautiful, — The choru> 
in particular is truly pathetic. 1 never 
could learn anything of its author. 



Sae merry as we twa hae been, 
Sae merry as we twa hae been ; 

My heart it is like for to break. 
When I think on the days we hae seen. 

A lass that was laden with care 

Sat heavily under a thorn ; 
I listen'd a while for to hear. 

When thus she began for to mourn : 
Whene'er my dear shepherd was there, 

The birds did melodiously sing, 
And cold nipping winter did wear 

A face that resembled the spring. 

Our P.ocks feeding close by his side. 

He gently pressing my hand, 
I view'd the wide world in its pride. 

And laugh'd at the pomp of command. 
" My dear," he would oft to ine say, 

" What makes you hard-hearted to me? 
Oil ! why do you thus turn av/ay 

From him who is dj-ing for thee ?" 

But now he is far from my sight. 

Perhaps a deceiver may prove, 
Which makes me lament day and night, 

That ever I granted my love. 
At eve, when the rest of the folk 

Were merrily seated to spin, 
I set myself under an oak. 

And heavily sigh'd for him. 



THE BANKS OF FORTH. 

This air is Oswald's. 

" Here's anither— it's no a Scots tune, but it 
passes for ane — Oswald made it himse'i. I 
reckon. He has cheated mony a ane, but l,e 
canna cheat Wandering Willie."— Sir Walti a 
Scott. 

The following is the song as given in the 

I\IuseHin : — 

Ye sylvan powers that rule the plain. 
Where sweetly winding Fonha glides, 

Conduct me to those banks again. 
Since there my charming Mary bides. 

Those banks that breathe their vernal swecks, 
Where every smiling beauty meets ; 
Where Mary's charms adorn the plain, 
And cheer the heart of every swain. 

Oft in the thick embowering groves. 
Where birds their music chirp aloud, 

Alternately v.'e sung our loves, 
And Fortha's fair meanders view'd. 



REMARKS ON SCOTTISH SONG. 



311 



The meadows wore a general smile, 
Love was our banquet all the while ; 
The lovelv prospect charm'd the eye, 
To where the ocean met the sky. 

Once on the grassy bank reclined 
Where Forth ran by in murmurs deep, 

It was my happy chance to find 
The charming Mary lull'd asleep ; 

My heart then leap'd with inward bliss, 
I softly stoop'd, and stole a kiss ; 
She waked, she blush'd, and gently blamed, 
'* Why, Damon ! are you not ashamed ?" 

Ye sylvan powers, ye rural gods, 
To whom we swains our cares impart, 

Restore me to those blest abodes, 
And ease, oh ! case my love-sick heart ! 

Those happy days again restore. 
When Mary and I shall part no more ; 
When she shall fill these longing arms. 
And crown my bliss with alfher charms. 



THE BUSH ABOON TRAQUAIR. 

This is another beautiful song of Mr. 
Crawford's composition. In the neigh- 
bourhood of Traqaair, tradition still 
shows the old " Bush," v/hich, when I 
saw it in the year 1787, was composed 
of eiglit or nine ragged birches. The 
Earl of Traquair has planted a clump 
of trees near by, which he calls ** The 
hew Bush. " 

Hear me, ye nymphs, and every swain, 

I'll tell how Peggy grieves me ; 
Though thus I languish and complain, 

Alas ! she ne'er believes me. 
My vows and sighs, like silent air, 

Unheeded never move her ; 
The bonny bush aboon Traquair, 

Was where I first did love her. 

That day she smiled and made me glad, 

No maid seem'd ever kinder; 
I thought mysel the luckiest lad. 

So sweetly there to find her. 
I tried to soothe my amorous flame 

In words that I thought tender ; 
If more there pass'd, I'm not to blame, 

I meant not to offend her. 

Yet now she scornful flees the plain. 

The fields we then frequented ; 
If e'er we meet, she shows disdain, 

She looks as ne'er acquainted. 
The bonny bush bloom'd fair in May, 

Its sweets I'll aye remember ; 
But now her frowns make it decay ; 

It fades as in December. 



Ye rural powers, who hear my strains. 

Why thus should Peggy grieve me ? 
Oh ! make her partner in my pains ; 

Then let her smiles relieve me. 
If not, my love will turn despair, 

My passion no more tender; 
I'll leave the bush aboon Traquair, 

To lonely wilds I'll wander. 



CROMLET'S LILT. 

The following interesting account o'r 
this plaintive dirge was communicated 
to Mr. Riddel by Alexander Eraser 
Tytler, Esq., of Woodhouselee : — 

" In the latter end of the IGtli cen- 
tury, the Chisholms were proprietors 
of the estate of Cromleck, (now posses- 
sed by the Drummonds.) The eldest 
son of that family was very much at- 
tached to the daughter of Stirling of 
Ardoch, commonly known by the name 
of Fair Helen of Ardoch. 

" At that time the opportunities of 
meeting between the sexes were more 
rare, consequently more sought after 
than now; and the Scottish ladies, far 
from priding themselves on extensive 
literature, were thought sufficiently 
book-learned if they could niake out 
the Scriptures in their mother tongue. 
Writing was entirely out of the line of 
female education. At that period the 
most of our young men of family 
sought a fortune or found a grave in 
France. Cromleck, when he went 
abroad to the war, was obliged to leave 
the management of his correspondence 
with his mistress to a lay -brother of 
the monastery of Dunblane in the im- 
mediate neighbourhood of Cromleck, 
and near Ardoch. This man unfortu- 
nately, was deeply sensible of Helen's 
charms. He artfully prepossessed her 
with stories to the disadvantage of 
Cromleck; and, by misinterpreting, or 
keeping up the letters and messages in- 
trusted to his care, he entirely irritated 
both. All connection Vv^as broken off 
betwixt them: Helen was inconsolable, 
and Cromleck has left behind him, in 
the ballad called * Cromlet's Lilt,' a 
proof of the elegance of his genius, as 
well as the st-eadiness of his love. 
' ' When the artful monk thought time 



313 



BURNS' WORKS. 



had sufficiently softened Helen's sor- 
row, lie proposed himself as a lover 
Helen was obdurate, but at last, over- 
come by the persuasions of her brother, 
with whom she lived, and who, having a 
family of thirty-one children, was prob- 
ably very well pleased to get her off his 
hands — she submitted rather than con- 
sented to the ceremony, but there her 
compliance ended; and, when forcibly 
put into bed, she started quite frantic 
from it, screaming out, that after 
three gentle raps on the wainscoat, at 
the bed head, she heard Cromleck's 
voice, crying, ' O Helen, Helen, mind 
nie!' Cromleck soon after coming 
home, the treachery of the confidant 
was discovered — her marriage annulled 
— and Helen became Lady C'romleck." 
iV! B. — Marg Murray, mother to 
these thirty onediildrcn, was daughter 
of Murray of Strewn, one of the seven- 
teen sons of Tullybardine, and whose 
youngest son, commonly called the 
Tutor of Ardocli, died in the year 1715, 
aged 111 years 

The following is a copy of this ballad as it 
appears in the Museum :— 

Since all thy vows, false maid, 

Are blown to air 

And my poor heart betray'd 

To sad despair, 

Into some wilderness, 

My grief I will express, 

And thy hard-heartedness, 

O cruel fair ! 

Have I not graven our loves 

On every tree 

In yonder spreading groves, 

Though talse thou be ? 

Was not a solemn oath 

Plighted betwixt us both — 

Thou thy faith, I my troth- 
Constant to be ? 

Some gloomy place I'll find. 

Some doicful shade, 

Where neither sun nor wind 

E'er entrance had : 

Into that holloAV cave, 

There v/ill I sigh and rave, 

Because thou dost behave 

So faithlessly. 

Wild fruit shall be my meat, 

I'll drink the spring, 

Cold earth shall be my scat ; 

For covering. 

I'll have the starry sky 

My head to canopy. 

Until my soul on high 

Shall spread its wing. 



I'll have no funeral fire. 

Nor tears for me ; 
No grave do I desire 

Nor obsequy. 
The courteous redbreast he 
With leaves will cover me, 
And sing my elegy 

With doleful voice. 

And when a ghost I am 

I'll visit thee, 

O thou deceitful dame, 

Whose cruelty 

Has kill'd the fondest heart 

That e'er felt Cupid's dart. 

And never can desert 

From loving thee- 



MY DEARIE, IF THOU DIE. 

Another beautiful song of Craw- 
ford's. 

Love nevermore shall give me pain, 

My fancy's fix'd on thee, 
Nor ever maid my heart shall gain. 

My Peggy, it thou die. 
Thy beauty doth such pleasure give, 

Thy love's so true to me. 
Without thee I can never live. 

My dearie, if thou die. 

If fate shall tear thee from my breast. 

How shall I lonely stray ? 
In dreary dreams the night I'll waste. 

In sighs, the silent day. 
I ne'er can so much virtue find, 

Nor such perfection see ; 
Then I'll renounce all woman-kind. 

My Peggy, after thee. 

No new-blown beauty fires my heart. 

With Cupid's raving rage ; 
But thine, which can such sweetsjmpart. 

Must all tl*e world engage. 
'Twas this that like the morning sun 

Gave joy and life to me ; 
And when its destined day is done, 

V/ith Peggy let me di"e. 

Ye powers that smile on virtuous love. 

And m such pleasure share : 
You who Its faithful flames approve. 

With pity view the fair ; 
Restore my Peggy's wonted charms, 

Those charms so de.ir to me ! 
Oh ! never rob them from these arms I 

I'm lost if Peggy die. 



SHE ROSE AND LET ME IN. 

Thp: old set of this song, which is 
still to 1)0 found in printed collections, 
i;; luuch prettier than tliis ; but some- 



REMARKS ON SCOTTISH SONG. 



313 



body, T believe it was Ramsay,* took 
it into his liead to clear it of some 
seeming indelicacies and made it at 
once more chaste and more dull. 
The Museum version is as follows :— 

The night her silent sables wore 

And gloomy were the skies, 
Of glittering stars appcar'd no more 

Than those in Nelly's eyes. 
When to her father's door I came, 

Where I had often been, 
I begg'd my fair, my lovely dame, 

To rise and let me in. 

But she, with accents all divine. 

Did my fond suit reprove. 
And while she chid my rash design, 

She but inflamed my love. 
Her beauty oft had pleased before, 

While her bright eyes did roll: 
But virtue only had the power 

To charm my very soul. 

Oh, who would cruelly deceive, 

Or from such beauty pan ! 
I loved her so, 1 could not leave 

The charmer of my heart. 
My eager fondness I obey'd. 

Resolved she should be mine, 
Till Hymen to my arms convey'd 

My treasure so divme. 

Now happy in my Nelly's love, 

Transporting is my joy. 
No greater blessing can I prove. 

So blest a man am I. 
For beauty may a while retain, 

The conquer'd flattering mart, 
But virtue only is the chain 

Holds, never to depart.. 



WILL YE GO TO THE EWE- 
BUGHTS,! MARION? 

I Air not sure if this old and charm- 
ing air be of the Soutli, as is commonly 
said, or of the North of Scotland. 
.There is a song apparently as an' dent 
as " Ewe-bughts, Marion," which sings 
to the same time, and is evidently of the 
North — it begins thus: — 



^ Sheep-folds, 
* " No, no : it was not Ramsay. The song 
still remains m his Tea- Table Miscellany, and 
the 07-pheus Caledonius, and even in Herd's 
Collection, in its primitive state of indelicacy. 
The verses in the Muse:n)i were retouched by 
an able and masterly hand, who has thus pre- 
sented us with a song at once chaste and ele- 
gant, without a single idea to crimson the 
cheek of modesty, or cause one pang to the 
innocent heart."— Stenhouse. 



The Lord o' Gordon had three dochters, 

Mary, Marget, and Jean, 
They wad na stay at bonny Castle Gordon, 

But awa' to Aberdeen. 

The old ballad begins thus :— 

Will ye go to the ewe-bughts, Marion, 
And wear in the sheep wi' me ? 

The sun shines sweet, my Marion, 
But nae half sae sweet as thee. 

O Marion's a bonny lass. 

And the blithe blink's in her ee \ 

And fain wad I marry Marion, 
Gin Marion wad marry me. 



LEWIE GORDON. 
Tins air is a proof how one of our 

Scotch tunes comes to be composed out 
of another. I have one of the earliest 
copies of the song, and it has prerixed 
— " Tune — ' Tarry Woo' " — of whicli 
tune a diTicrent set has insensibly 
varied into a different air. — To a Scots 
critic, the pathos of the line, 

" Though his back be at the wa'," 

must be very striking. It needs not a 
Jacobite predjudice to be affected with 
this song. 

The supposed author of "Lewie 
Gordon" was a Mr. Geddes, priest &t 
Shell val in the Ainzie. 

Oh ! send Lewie Gordon hame. 
And the lad I maunna name ; 
Though his back be at the wa', 
Here's'to him that's far awa' ! 

Oh hon ! my Highland man ! 

Oh, my bonny Highland man ; 

Weel would I my "true-love ken, 

Amang ten thousand Highland men. 

Oh, to see his tartan trews. 
Bonnet blue, and laigh-heel'd shoes : 
Philabeg aboon his knee ; 
That's the lad that I'll gangwi ! 
Oh, hon ! &c. 

The princely youth that I do mean 
Is fitted for to be king ; 
On his breast he wears a star. 
You'd take him for the god of war. 
Oh, hon ! &c. 

Oh, to see this princely one 
Seated on a royal throne ! 
Disasters a' would disappear. 
Then begins the Jub'lee year! 
Oh, hon ! &c. 

Lord Lewie Gordon, younger brother to the 
Duke of Gordon, commanded a detachment 
for the Young Chevalier in the affair of 1745-6, 
and acquitted himself with great gallantry 
and judgment. He died in 1754. 



su 



BURNS' WORKS. 



THE WAULKING O' THE FAULD. 

There are two stanzas still sung to 
this tune, which 1 take to be the 
original song whence Kamsay com- 
posed his beautiful song of that name 
in the Gentle Shepherd. It begins 

" Oh, will ye speak at our town, 
As ye come irae the fauld," &c. 

I regret that, as in many of our old 
songs, the delicacy of this old frag- 
ment Is not equal to its wit and hu- 
mour. 

The following is Ramsay's version : — 

Mv Peggie is a young tiling. 

Just enter'd in her teens ; 
Fair as the day, and sweet as May, 
Fair as the day, and always gay. 
My Peggie is a young thing. 

And I'm not very auld ; 
Yet well I like to meet her at 

The waulkmg o' the fauld. 

My Peggie speaks sae sweetly 

Whene'er we meet aiane ; 
I wish nae mair to lay my care, 
I wish nae mair of a' that's rare. 
My Peggie speaks sae sweetly. 

To a' the lave I'm cauld ; 
But she gars a' my spirits glow 

At waulking o' the fauld. 

My Peggie smiles sae kindly 

Whene'er I whisper love, 
That I look down on a' the town. 
That I look down upon a crown. 
My Peggie smiles sae kindly. 

It makes me blithe and bauld ; 
And naething gies me sic delight 

As waulking o' the fauld. 

My Peggie sings sae saftly 

When on my pipe I play ; 
By a' the rest it is confess'd, 
By a' the rest that she sings best : 
My Peggy sings sae saftly. 

And in her sangs are tauld, 
With innocence, the wale o' sense, 

At w^aulking o' the fauld. 



OH ONO CHRTO.* 

Dr. Blackloctv informed me that 
this song was composed on the infamous 
massacre at Glencoe. 

Oh ! was not I a weary wight ! 
Maid, wife and widow in one night 1 
When in my soft and yielding arms, [harms, 
Oh ' when most I thought" him free from 



* A vitiated pronunciation of " Oc/zo/n och 
rie"—a. Gaelic exclamation expressive of deep 
sorrow and affliction. 



Even at the dead time of the night 

They broke my bower, and slew my knight. 

With ae lock of his jet-black hair 

I'll tie my heart for evermair ; 

Nae sly-tongued youth, nor flattermg swain. 

Shall e'er untie tiiis knot again ; 

Thine still, dear youth, that heart shall be. 

Nor pant for augiit save heaven and ihee. 



I'LL NEV^ER LEAVE THEE. 

This is another of Crawford's songs, 
but I do not think in his happiest man- 
ner. What an absurdity to join such 
names as Adonis and Mary together! 

OXE day I heard Mary say. 

How shall I leave thee ; 
Stay, dearest Adonis, stay. 

Why wilt thou grieve me ? 



CORN-RIGS ARE BONNY. 

AUu the old words that ever I couid 
meet to this air were the following, 
which seem to have been an oid 
chorus : — 

Oh, corn-rigs and rye-rigs. 

Oh. corn-rigs are bonny ; 
And, where'er you meet a bonny lass, 

Preen up her cockernony. 



BIDE YE YET. 

There is a beautiful song to this 
tune, beginning, 

" Alas ! my son, you little knOw," 
which is the composition of Miss 
Jenny Graham, of Dumfries. 

Alas ! my son, you little know 
The sorrows that from u-edlock flov\f ; 
Farewell to every day of ease 
When you have got a wife to please, 

Sae bide ye yet, and bide ye yet. 
Ye little ken what's to betide ye yet ; 
The half o' that will gane ye yet, 
Gif a wayward wife obtain ye yet. 

Your hopes are high, your wisdom small, 
Woe has not had you in its thrall ; 
The black cow on your foot ne'er trod. 
Which gars you sing along the road. 
Sae bide ye yet, &c. 

Sometimes the rock, sometimes the reel, 
Or some piece of the spinning-wheel, 
She'll drive at you, my bonny chiel. 
And send you headlang to the deil, 
Sae bide ye yet, &c. 



REMARKS ON SCOTTISH SONG. 



315 



When I, like you, was young- and free, 
I valued not the proudest she ; 
Like you, my boast was bold and vain, 
That men alone were born to reign. 
Sae bide ye yet, &c. 

Great Hercules, and Samson too, 
Were stronger far than I or you ; 
Yet they were baffled by their dears, 
And lelt the distaff and the shears. 
Sae bide ye yet, &c. 

Stout gates of brass and well-built walls 
Are proof 'gainst swords and cannon balls ; 
But nought is found, by sea or land. 
That can a wayward wife withstand. 
Sae bide ye yet, &c. 



Herb the remarks or the first vol- 
ume of the Musical Museum conclude: 
the second volume has tiie following- 
preface from the pen of Burns: — 

" In the first volume of this work, 
two or three airs, not of Scots com- 
position, have been inadvertently in- 
serted; which, whatever excellence 
they may have, was improper, as the 
collection is solely to be the music of 
our own country. The songs con- 
tained in thib volume, both music and 
poetry, are all of them the work of 
Scotsmen. Wherever the old words 
could be recovered, they had beenpre- 
f tarred . both as suiting- better the genius 
of the tunes, and to preserve the pro- 
ductions of those earlier sons of the 
Scottish muses, some of whose names 
deserved a better fate than has be- 
fallen them , — 'Buried 'midst the wreck 
of things which were.' Of our more 
modern songs, the editor has inserted 
the author's names a5 far as he can 
ascertain them; and as that was 
neglected in the first volume, it is an- 
nexed here. If he have made any 
mistakes in this affair, which he possi- 
bly may, he will be very grateful at 
being set right, 

"Ignorance and prejudice may per- 
haps affect to sneer at the simplicity of 
the poetry or music of some of these 
poems; but their having been for ages 
the favourites of nature's judges — the 
common people — was to the editor a 
sufficient test of their merit. 

"Edinburgh, March i, 1778." 



TRANENT MUIR. 

"Tranent Mum" was composed 
by a Mr. Skirving, a very worthy, re- 
spectable farmer, near Haddington.* 
I have heard the anecdote often, that 
Lieut. Smith, whom he mentions in the 
ninth stanza, came to Haddington after 
the publication of the song, and sent a 
challenge to Skirving to meet him at 
Haddington, and answer for the un- 
worthy manner in which he had noticed 
him in his song. " Gang away back," 
said the honest farmer, "and tell Mr. 
Smitli that I hae nae leisure to come to 
Haddington; but tell hhn to come here, 
and I'll tak a look o' him, and if he 
think I'm fit to fecht liin:, I'll fecht 
Liiu; and if nc, I'll do a. h'^ did — I'll 
rin aw(x'/" 

Stanza ninth, as weli as tenth, to which the 
anecdote refers, shows that the anger of the 
lieutenant was anything but unreasonable. 

And Major Bowie, that worthy soul, 

Was brought down to the ground, man ; 
His horse being shot, it was his lot 

For to get many a wound, man : 
Lieutenant Smithy of Irish birth, 

Frae whom he called for aid, man, 
Being full of dread, lap o'er his head, 

And wadna be gainsay'd, man ! 

He rhade sic haste, sae spurr'd his baist, 

'Twas little there he savv^, man ; 
To Berwick rade, and falsely said 

The Scots were rebels a', man : 
But let that end, for well 'tis kenn'd, 

His use and wont to lie, man ; 
The teague is naught, he never faught 

When he had room to flee, man. 



POLWARTf ON THE GREEN. 

The author of "Pol wart on the 
Green" is ('apt. John Drummond 
M'Gregor, of the family of Bochaldie. \ 

At Pol wart on the green, 
If you'll meet me the morn, 



* Mr. Skirving was tenant of East Garleton, 
about a mile and a half to the north of Had- 
dington. 

t "■ Polwart is a ple.nsant village situate 
near Dunse, in Berwickshire. In the middle 
of the village stand two venerable thorns, 
round which the Polwart maidens, Avheo they 
became brides, danced with their partners oa 
the day of the bridal."— CuNiN'inghaM. 

X The poet ^s in error here. The best au- 
thoriUKS agree m ascribing the authorship oi 
liie song to Allan Ramsay. 



316 



BURNS' WORKS. 



Where lasses do conveen 
To dance about the thorn, 

A kindly welcome ye shall meet 
Frae her vvha likes to view 

A lover and a lad complete — 
The lad and lover you. 

Let dorty dames say na 

As king- as e'er they please. 
Seem caulder than the snaw. 

While inwardly they bleeze. 
But I will frankly shaw my mind, 

And yield my heart to thee ; 
Be ever to the captive kind 

That langs na to be free. 

At Polwart on the green, 

Amang the new-mown hay. 
With sangs and dancing keen 

We'll pass the heartsome day. 
At night, if beds be o'er thrang laid, 

And thou be twined of thine, 
Thou shalt be welcome, my dear lad, 

To take a part of mine. 



STREPHON AND LYDIA. 

The following account of this song 
I had from Dr. Blacklock: — 

The Strephon and Lydia mentioned 
in the song were perhaps the loveliest 
couple of their time. The gentleman 
was commonly known by the name of 
Beau Gibson. The lady was the "Gentle 
Jean," celebrated somewhere in 
Hamilton of Bangour's poems. — Hav- 
ing frequently met at public places, they 
had formed a reciprocal attachment, 
which their friends thought dangerous, 
as their resources were by no means 
adequate to their tastes and habits of 
life. To elude the bad consequences 
of such a connection, Strephon was sent 
abroad with a commission, and perished 
in Admiral Vernon's expedition toCar- 
thagena. 

The author of the song was William 
Wallace, Esq., of Cairuhill, in Ayr- 
shire. 

All lonely on the sultry beach, 

Expiring, Strephon lay ; 
No hand the cordial draught to reach, 

Nor cheer the gloomy way. 
Ill-fated youth ! no parent nigh 

To catch thy fleeting breath. 
No bride to tix thy swimming eye. 

Or smooth the face of death ! 

Far distant from the mournful sceae 

Thy parents sit at ease ; 
Thy Lydia rifles all the plain. 

And all the spring, to please. 



Ill-fated youth ! by fault of friend, 
Not force of foe, depress'd. 

Thou fall'st, alas ! thyself, thy kind, 
Thy country, unredress'd I 



MY JO, JANET. 

OF THE "MUSEUM." 

Johnson, the publisher, with a 
foolish delicacy, refused to insert th« 
last stanza of this humorous ballad. 

Oh, sweet sir, for your courtesie. 

When ye come by the Bass then, 
For the love ye bear to me. 

Buy me a keeking-glass then. 
Keek into the draw-well, 

Janet, Janet ; 
And there ye'll see your bonny sel', 
My jo, Janet. 

Keeking in the draw-well clear. 

What if I should fa' in then ; 
Syne a' my kin will say and svv'ear 

I drown'd mysel' for sin, then. 
Hand the better by the brae, 

Janet, Janet! 
Hand the better by the brae, 

My jo, Janet. 

Good sir, for 3'our courtesie. 

Coming through Aberdeen then. 
For the love ye bear to me. 

Buy me a pair of sheen then. 
Clout the auld, the new are dear, 
Janet, Janet ; 
A pair may gain ye half a year. 

My jo, Janet. 

But what, if dancing on the green. 

And skipping like a maiikin,' 
If they should see my clouted sheen. 

Of me they will be talkin'. 
Dance aye laigh, and late at e'en, 
Janet, Janet ; 
Syne a' their fauts will no be seen. 
My jo, Janet. 

Kind sir, for your courtesie. 

When ye gae to the cross then. 
For the love ye bear to me, 

Buy me a pacing horse then. 
Pace upo' your spinning-wheel, 

Janet, Janet ; 
Pace upo' your spinning-wheel. 
My jo, Janet. 

My spinning-wheel is auld and stiff, 

The rock o't winna stand, sir; 
To keep the temper-pin in tiff 

Employs right aft my hand, sir. 
Mak the best o' that ve can, 

Janet, Janet; 
But like it never wale a man. 

My jo, Janet. 



REMARKS ON SCOTTISH SONG. 



817 



LOVE IS THE CAUSE OF MY 
MOURNING. 

The words by a Mr. R, Scott, from 
the town or ueighbourliood of Biggar. 

The first stanza of this fine song is as fol- 
lows : — 

By a murmuring- stream a fair shepherdess 

lay, 
Be so kind, O ye nymphs, I oft heard her say, 
Tell Strephon I die, if he passes this way, 

And love is the cause of my mourning. 
False shepherds, that tell me of beauty and 
charms, [warms. 

Deceive me, for Strephon's cold heart never 
Yet bring me this Strephon, I'll die in his 
arms ; 
O Strephon ! the cause of my mourning, 
but first, said she, let me go 
Down to the shades below, 
Ere ye let Strephon know 
That I have loved him so : 
Then on my pale cheek no blushes will show 
That love is the cause of my mourning. 



FIFE, AND A' THE LANDS ABOUT 
IT. 

This scng is Dr. Blacklock's. He, as 
well as I, often gave Johnston verses, 
trifling enough, perhaps, but they serv- 
ed as a vehicle to the music. 

Allan, by his grief excited. 

Long the victim of despair. 
Thus deplored his passion slighted, 

Thus address'd the scornful fair: 
•■• Fife, and all the lands about it, 

Undesiring, I can see ; 
Joy may crown my days without it, 

Not, my charmer, without thee. 

" Must I then forever languish. 

Still complaining, still endure ? 
Can her form create an anguish 

Which her soul disdains to cure? 
Why, by hopeless passion fated, 

Must I still those eyes admire, 
Whilst unheeded, unregretted, 

In her presence I expire ? 

" Would thy charms improve their power. 

Timely think, relentless maid ; 
Beauty is a short-lived flower. 

Destined but to bloom and fade ! 
Let that heaven, whose kind impression 

All thy lovely features show. 
Melt thy soul to soft compassion 

For a suffering lover's woe." 



WERENA MY HEART LIGHT I 
WAD DIE. 

Lord Hailes. in the notes to his 
Collection of ancient Scots poems, says 



that this song was the composition of 
Lady Grisel Baillie, daughter of the first 
Earl of Marchmont, and wife of George 
Baillie of Jerviswood. 

There was ance a may, and she lo'd na men. 
She biggit her bonny bower down in yon glen ; 
But now she cries dool ! and ah, well-a-day ! ' 
Come down the green gate, and come here 
away. 

When bonny yonng Johnny came o'er the sea. 
He said he saw naething sae lovely as me ; ' 
He hecht me baith rings and mony braw 

things ; 
And warena my heart light I wad die. 

He had a wee titty that lo'd na me. 

Because I was twice a$ bonny as she : 

She raised such a pother 'twixt him and his 

mother, 
That werena my heart light I wad die. 

The day it was set, and the bridal to be, 
The wife took a dwam, and laid down to die ; 
She main'd and she grain'd, out of dolour and 

pain, 
Till he vow'd he never wad see me again. 

His kin was for ane of a higher degree. 
Said, What had he to do with the like of me ? 
Albeit I was bonny, I wasna for Johnny 
And werena my heart light I wad die. 

They said I had neither cow nor caff, 
Nor dribbles of drink rins through the draff. 
Nor pickles of meal rins through the mill-ee ; 
And werena my heart light I wad die. 

His titty she was baith wily and slee. 
She spied me as I came o'er thee lee ; 
And then she ran in, and made a loud din. 
Believe your ain een, an ye trow na me. 

His bonnet stood ance fu' round on his brow, 
His auld ane looks aye as weel as some's new ; 
But now he lets't wear ony gate it will hing. 
And casts himself dowie upon the corn-bing. 

And now lie gaes drooping about the dykes, 
And a' he dow do is to hund the tykes : 
The live-lang night he ne'er steeks his ee. 
And werena my heart light I wad die. 

Were I young for thee, as I ance hae been. 
We should hae been galloping down on yon 

green. 
And linking it on the lily-white lee ; 
And wow gin I were but young for thee ! 



THE YOUNG MAN'S DREAM, 

This song is the composition of Bal- 
loon Tytler, mentioned at p. 310. 

One night I dream'd I lay most easy, 

By a murmuring river side. 
Where lovely banks were spread with daisies 

And the streams did smoothly glide ; 



'818 



BURNS' WORKS. 



While around me, and quite over. 
Spreading branches were display'd, 

All interwoven in due order, 
Soon became a pleasant shade. 

I saw my lass come in most charming-, 

With a look and air so sweet ; 
Every grace was most alarming. 

Every beauty most complete, 
Cupid with his bow attended ; 

Lovely Venus too was there ; 
As his bow young Cupid bended, 

Ifer away flew carking care. 

On a bank of roses seated. 

Charming my true-love sung ; 
While glad echo still repeated, 

And the hills and valleys rung' 
At the last, by sleep oppress'(;J 

On the bank my love did lie. 
By youngCupid still caress'd. 

While the graces round did fly. 

The rose's red, the lily's blossom, 

With her charms might not compare. 
To view her cheeks and heaving bosom, 

Down they droop'd as in despair. 
On her slumber I encroaching. 

Panting came to steal a kiss : 
Cupid smiled at me approaching, 

Seem'd to say, " There's nought amiss." 

With eager wishes I drew nigher. 

This fair maiden to embrace : 
My breath grew quick, my pulse beat higher. 

Gazing on her lovely face. 



The nymph, awaking, quickly check'd me. 

Starting up, with angry tone ; 
" Thus," saj's she, *' do you respect me ? 

Leave me quick, and hence begone." 
Cupid for me interposing, 

To my love did bow full low ; 
She from him her hands unloosing. 

In contempt struck down his bow. 

Angry Cupid from her flying, 

Cried out, as he sought the skies, 
"Haughty nymphs, their love denying, 

Cupid ever siiall despise. ' 
As he jpoke, old care came wandering, 

With lum stalk'd destructive Time; 
Winter froze the streams meandering, 

Nipt the roses in their prime. 

Spectres then my love surrounded. 

At their back march'd chilling Death. 
Whilst she. frighted and confounded, 

Felt iheir blasting, pois'nous breath ; 
As her charms were swift decaying. 

And the furrows seized her cheek ; 
Forbear, ye fiends ! I vainly crying, 

Waked in the attempt to speak. 



THE TEARS OF SCOTLAND. 
Dr. BLACKLOCKtold me that Smollett 
who was at the bottom a great Jacob 



ite, composed those beautiful ai^d 
pathetic verses ou the infamous depre- 
dations of the Duke of Cumberlai 4 
after the battle of Culloden, 



MouKN, hapless Caledonia, mourn. 
Thy banish'd peace, thy laurels torn ! 
Thy sons lor valour long rcnown'd. 
Lie slaughtcr'd on their native ground : 
Thy hospitable roofs no more 
Invite the stranger to the door ; 
In smoky ruins sunk they lie, 
The monuments of cruelty. 

The wretched owner sees, afar, 
His all become the prey of war ; 
Bethinks him of his babes and wife. 
Then smites his breast, and curses life. 
Thy swains are famish'd on the rocks 
Where once they fed their wanton flocks : 
Thy ravish'd virgins shriek in vain ; 
Thy infants perish on the plain. 

What boots it then, in every clime, 
Through the wide-spreading waste of time 
Thy martial glory, crown'd with praise, 
Still shone with undiminish'd blaze : 
Thy towering spirit now is broke. 
Thy neck is bended to the yoke : 
What foreign arms could never quell 
By civil rage and rancour fell. 

The rural pipe and merry lay 
No more shall cheer the happy day : 
No social scenes of gay delight 
Beguile the dreary winter night : 
No strains, but those of sorrow, flow. 
And nought be heard but sounds of woe : 
While the pale phantoms of the slain 
Glide nightly o'er the silent plain. 



Oh ! baneful cause— oh ! fatal morn, 
Accursed to ages j-et unborn ! 
The sons against their father sto6d • 
The parent shed his children's blood I 
Yet, when the rage of battle ceased. 
The victor's soul was not appeased ; 
The naked and forlorn must feel 
Devouring flames and murdering steel. 

The pious mother, doom'd to death. 

Forsaken, wanders o'er the heath, 

The bleak wind whistles round her head. 

Her helpless orphans cry for bread ; 

Bereft of shelter, food, and friend. 

She views the shades of night descend , 

And, stretch'd beneath the inclement skies^ 

Weeps o'er her tender babes, and dies. 

Whilst the warm blood bedews my veins, 
And unimpair'd remembrance reigns. 
Resentment of my country's fate 
Within my filial breast shall beat; 
And, spite of her insulting foe, 
My sympathising verse shall flow : 
Mourn, hapless Caledonia, mourn 
Thy banish'd peace, thy laurels toral 



REMARKS ON SCOTTISH SONG. 



319 



AH ! THE POOR SHEPHERD'S 
MOURNFUL FATE.* 

Tune—" Galashiels." 

The old title, " Sour Plums o' Gal- 
ashiels," probably was the beginning 
of a song to this air, which is now lost. 

The tune of Galashiels was com- 
posed about the beginning of the pres- 
ent century by the Laird of Galashiels' 
piper. 

Ah ! the poor shepherd's mournful fate, 

When doom'd to love and languish, 
To bear the scornful fair one's hate, 

Nor dare disclose his anguish ! 
Yet eager looks and dying sighs 

My secret soul discover ; 
While rapture trembling through mine eyes. 

Reveals how much I love her. 
The tender glance, the redd'ning cheek, 

O'erspread with rising blushes, 
A thousand various ways they speak, 

A thousand various wishes. 

For oh ! that form so heavenly fair, 

Those languid eyes so sweetly smiling. 
That artless' blush and modest air. 

So fatally beguiling ! 
The every look and every grace 

So charm whene'erl view thee. 
Till death o'ertake me in the chase. 

Still will my hopes pursue thee : 
Then when my tedious hours are past, 

Be this last blessing given. 
Low at thy feet to breathe my last, 

And die in sight of heaven. 



MILL, MILL, O. 

The original, or at least a song evi- 
dently prior to Ramsay's, is still extant. 
It runs thus: — 

As I cam down yon waterside, 

And by von shellin-hill, O, 
There I spied a bonny, bonny lass. 

And a lass that I loved right weel, O. 



The mill, mill, O, and the kill, kill, O, 
And the coggin o' Peggy's wheel, O, 

The sack and the sieve, and a' she did 
leave. 
And danced the miller's reel, O. 



Instead of the four lines, beginning 
with, "When cockle-shells," &c., the 
other way ran thus : — 

Oh, wherefore need I busk my head, 
Or wherefore need I kame my hair. 

Sin my fause luve has me forsook, 
And says he'll never luve me main 

Oh, waly, waly, up yon bank. 

And waly, wal3^ down j'on brae. 
And waly by j^on burn side. 

Where I and my love were wont to gae 
Oh, waly, v.-aly, love is bonny 

A little while, when it is new ; 
But when it's auld it wa.xeth cauld. 

And fades away like morning dew. 

When cockle shells turn siller bells. 

And mussels grow on every tree. 
When frost and snaw shall warm us a'. 

Then shall ray love prove true to me. 
I leant my back unto an aik, 

I thought it was a trustie tree ; 
But first it bow'd, and syne it brake, 

And sae did my fause love to me. 

Now Arther Seat shall be my bed. 
The sheets shall ne'er be filed by me : 

Saint Anton's well shall be my drink. 
Since my true love's forsaken me. 

O Mart'mas wind, whan wilt thou blaw, 
And shake the green leaves aff the tree ! 

gentle death, whan wilt thou cum, 
And tak a life that wearies me ? 

'Tis not the frost that freezes fell, 
i Nor blawing snaw's inclemcncie .' 

'Tis not sic cauld that makes m.e cry. 

But my love's heart grown cauld to me. 
When Vv'e cam in by Glasgow town. 

We vv-ere a comely sight to see ; 
My love was clad in velvet black, 

And I mysel in cramasie. 

But had I wist before I kisst. 
That love had been sae ill to win, 

1 had lockt my heart in a case of gowd, 
And pinn'd it wi' a siller pin. 

Oh, oh ! if ray young babe were born. 
And set upon the nurse's knee. 

And 1 mysel were dead and gone ; 
For a maid again I'll never be. 



WALY, WALY. 

In the west country T have heard a 
different edition of tlie second stanza. 

* William Hamilton of Bangour, an amiable 
and accomplished gentleman, and one of our 
sweetest lyric poets, was the author of this 
song. 



DUNCAN GRAY. 

Dr.Blacklock informed me that he 
had often heard the tradition tliat this 
j air was composed by a carman in 
Glasgow. 



DUMBARTON DRUMS. 

This is the last of the West High- 
land airs; and from it, over Ihe whole 
tract of country to the confines of 



830 



BUKNS' WORKS. 



Tweed-side, tliere is hardly a tune or 
song that one can say has tal^en its 
origin from any place or transaction in 
that part of Scotland. — The oldest Ayr- 
sliire reel is Stewarton Lasses, which 
was made by tlie father of the present 
Sir Walter Montgomery C'unningham, 
aliuH Lord Lysle, since whicli period 
there has indeed been local music in 
that country in great plenty. — Johnnie 
Faa is the only old song which I could 
ever trace as belonging to the extensive 
county of Ayr. 

Dumbarton's drums beat bonny, O, 

When they mind me of my dear Johnnie, O, 

How happy am I 

When my soldier is by. 
While he kisses and blesses his Annie, O, 
'Tis a soldier alone can dehg^h.t me, O, 
For his graceful looks do unite me, O ; 

While g-uarded in his arms, 

I'll fear no war's alarms, [O, 

Neither danger nor death shall e'er fright me. 

My love is a handsome lat'.die, O, 
Genteel, but ne'er fopj)ish or gaudy, O 

Though commisiiions arc dear. 

Yet I'll buy him one this year. 
For he shall serve no longer a caddie, O ; 
A soldier has honour and bravery, O, [O, 

Unacquainted with rogues and their knavery. 

He minds no other thing. 

But the ladies or the Kiiig, 
For every other care is but slavery, O. 

Then I'll be the captain's lady ; O, 
Farewell all my friends and my daddy, O ; 

I'll wait no more at home. 

But I'll follow with the drum. 
And whene'er that beats I'll be ready, O, 
Dumbarton drums sound bonny, O, 
They are sprightly like my dear Johnnie, O ; 

How happy shall I be. 

When on my soldier's knee. 
And he kisses and blesses his Annie,- O ! 



CAULD KAIL IN ABERDEEN. 

This song is by the Duke of Gordon. 
The old verses are, 

There's cauld kail in Aberdeen. 

And castocks in Strathbogie ; 
When ilka lad maun hae his lass, 

Then fye gie me my coggie. 
There's Johnnie Smith has got a wife, 

That scrimps him o' his coggie,. 
If she were mine, upon my life 

I wad douk her in a boggie. 



My coggie, sirs, my coggie, sirs, 
I caonot want my coggie : 

I wadna gie my three-girt cap 
For e'er a quean in Bogie. 



" The ' Cauld Kail' of his Grace of Gordon," 
says Cunningham, " has long been a favour- 
ite in the north, and deservedly so, for it is 
full of life and manners. It is almost needless 
to say that kail is colewort, and much used in 
broth : that castocks are the stalks of a com- 
mon caljbage ; and that coggie is a wooden 
dish for holding porridge: it is also a drinking 
vessel." 

There's cauld kail in Aberdeen, 

And castocks in Stra'bogie; 
Gin I but hae a bonny lass, 

Ye're welcome to your coggie ; 
And ye may sit up a' the night. 

And drink till it be braid day-light— '■ 

Gie me a lass baith clean and tight, 

To dance the Reel o' Bogie. 

In cotillons the French excel ; 

John Bull loves country-dances : 
The Spaniards dance fandangos well ; 

Mynheer an allemande prances : 
In foursome reels the Scots delight. 

At threesome they dance wondrous light, 
But twasome ding a' out o' sight, 

Danced to the Reel o' Bogie. 

Come, lads, and view your partners well, 

Wale each a blithesome rogie ; 
I'll tak this lassie to mysel, 

She looks sae keen and vogie ! 
Now, piper lad, bang up the spring: 

The country fashion is the thing, 
To prie their mous e'er we begin 

To dance the Reel o' Bogie. 

Now ilka lad has got a lass, 

Save yon auld doited fogie ; 
And ta'en a tling upo' the grass, 

As they do in Stra'bogie ; 
But a' the lasses look sae fain, 

We canna think oursels to hain. 
For they maun hae their come-again ; 

To dance the Reel o' Bogie. 

Now a' the lads hae done their best, 

Like true men o' Stra'bogie ; 
We'll stop a while and tak "a rest. 

And tipple out a coggie. 
Come now, my lads, and tak your glass, 

And try ilk other to surpass. 
In wishing health to every lass, 

To dance the Reel o' Bogie. 



FOR LACK OF GOLD. 

The country girls in Ayrshire, in* 
stead of the line — 



say 



She me forsook for a great duke,'* 



'For Athole's duke she me forsook : 



which I take to be the original reading. 
This song was written by the late Dr. 



REMARKS ON SCOTTISH SONG. 



321 



Austin,* physician at Edinburgh. — He 
had courted a lady, to whom he was 
shortly to have been married; but the 
Duke of Athole, having seen her, be- 
came so much in love with her, that he 
made proposals of marriage, which 
were accepted of, and she jilted the 
doctor. 

For lack of gold she's left me, ol« '. 
And of all that's dear bereft nie, on ? 
For Athole's duke, she me forsooK. 

And to endless care has left me, oh ! 
A star and garter have more art 
Than youth, a true and faithful heart, 
For empty titles we must part. 

And for glitt'ring show she's left me, oh ! 

No cruel fair shall ever move 
My injured heart again to love. 
Through distant climates I must rove, 

Since Jeanie she has left me, oh ! 
Ye powers above, I to your care 
Resign my faithless lovely fair. 
Your choicest blessings be her share, 

Though she's forever left me, oh ! 



HERE'S A HEALTH TO MY TRUE 
LOVE, &c. 

This song is Dr. Blacklock's. He 
told me that tradition gives the air to 
our James IV. of Scotland. 

To me what are riches encumber'd with care ! 
To me what is pomp's insignihcant glare ! 
No minion of fortune, no pageant of state, 
Shall ever induce me to envy his fate. 

Their personal graces let fops idolize. 
Whose life is but death in a splendid disguise ; 
But soon the pale tyrant his right shall re- 
sume, 
And all their false lustre be hid in the tomb. 

Let the meteor discovery attract the fond 

sage. 
In fruitless researches for life to engage ; 
Content with my portion, the rest I forego, 
Nor labour to gain disappointment and woe. 

Contemptibly fond of contemptible self. 
While misers their wishes concentre in pelf • 
Let the godlike deli;:j^Iu of imparling be mine, 
Enjoyment rellecied is pleasure divine. 



*"The doctor gave his woes an airing in 
song-, and then married a very agreeable and 
beautiful lady, by whom he had a numerous 
family. Nor did Jean Drummond,of Meg- 
ginch, break her heart when James, Duke of 
Athole, died: she dried her tears, and gave 
her hand to Lord Adam Gordon. The song 
t8 creditable to the author."— Cunningham. 



Extensive dominion and absolute power. 
May tickle ambition, perhaps for an hour ; 
But power in possession soon loses its charms, 
While conscience remonstrates, and terror 
alarms. 

With vigour, oh, teach me, kind Heaven, to 

sustain 
Those ills which in life to be suffer'd lemain ; 
And when 'tis allow'd me the goal to descry. 
For my species I lived, for myself Ice me die. 



HEY TUTTI TAITi 

i HAVE met the tradition universally 
over Scotland, and particularly about 
Stirling, in the neighbourhood of tho 
scene, that this air was Robert Bruce's 
march at the Battle of Bannockburn. 



TAK YOUR AULD CLOAK ABOUT 
YE. 

A PART of this old song, according 
to the English set of it, is quoted in 
Shakespeare. 

In winter when the rain rain'd cauld. 

And frost and snaw on ilka hill. 
And Boreas, with his blasts sae bauld, 

Was threat'ning a' our kye to kill : 
Then Bell my wife, wha loves na strife, 

She said to me right hastily. 
Get up goodman, save Cromie's life. 

And tak your auld cloak about ye. 

My Cromie is a useful cow. 

And she is come of a good kyne ; 
Aft has she wet the bairns, mou. 

And I am laith that she should tyne. 
Get up, goodman, it is fu' time. 

The sun shines in the lift sae hiCo 
Sloth never made a gracious end, 

Go tak your auld cloak about ye. 

My cloak was ance a good gray cloak; 

When it was titting for my wear • 
But now it's scantly vv'orth a groat. 

For I have worn't this thirty year. 
Let's spend tlie gear that we have won. 

We little ken the day we'll die ; 
Then I'll be proud since I have sworn 

To have a new cloak about me. 

In days v.'hen our King Robert rang 

His trews they cost but half a crown ; 
He said they were a groat o'er dear^ 

And call'd the t;u!or thief and louQ 
?Ie was the 1:1 ng that wore a crown, 

And tiiou the man of laigh degree, 
'Tis prirls )">uts a' the country down, 

Sae tak thy auld cloak about thee. 



822 



BURNS' WORKS. 



YE aODS, WAS STREPHON'S 
PICTURE BLEST?* 

Tune—" Fourteenth of October." 
The title of this ai r sliows tliat it al- 
ludes to the famous King Crispian, the 
patron of the honourable corpoi*atl(ni 
of slioemakers. St Crispian's day falls 
an the 14th of October, old style, as the 
old proverb tells: — 

"On the fourteentli of October, 
Was ne'er a suior' sober." 

Ye gods, was Strephon's picture blest 
With the fair heaven of Chloe's breast ? 
Move softer, thou fund flutt'ring heart, 
Oh, gently throb, too tierce thou art. 
Tell me, thou brightest of thy kind, 
For Strephon was the bliss design'd ? 
For Strephon's sake, dear charming maid, 
Didst thou prefer his wand'ring shade ? 

And thou bless'd shade that sweetly art 
Lodged so near my Chloe's heart, 
For me the tender hour improve. 
And softly tell how dear I love. 
Ungrateful thing ! it scorns to hear 
Its wretched master's ardent prayer, 
Ingrossing all that beauteous heaven 
That Chloe, lavish maid, has given. 

I cannot blame thee : were I lord 

Of all the wealth these breasts afford ; 

I'd be a miser too, nor give 

An alms to keep a god alive. 

Oh ! smile not thus, my lovely fair. 

On these cold looks that lifeless are: 

Prize him whose bosom glows with fire 

With eager love and soft desire. 

'Tis true thy charms, O powerful maid ! 
To life can bring the silent shade ; 
Thou canst surpass the painter's art. 
And real warmth and flames impart. 
But, oh ! it ne'er can love like me, 
I ever loved, and loved but thee ; 
Then, charmer, grant my fond request ; 
Say, thou canst love, and make me blest. 



SINCE ROBB'D OF ALL THAT 
CHARM'D MY VIEW. 

The old name of tliis air is " The 
Blossom o' the Raspberry." The song 
is Dr. Blacklock's. 



' Shoemaker. 
*Th;s song was composed by Hamilton of 
Bangour on hearing that a young lady of 
beauty and rank wore his picture in her 
bosom. 



As the song is a long one, we can only give 
the first and last verses : — 

Since robb'd of all that charmed my view 

Of all my soul e'er fancied fair. 
Ye smiling native scenes adieu, 

With cacii delightful object there : 
Oh ! when my heart revolves the joys 

Which in your sweet recess I knew. 
The last dread shock, which life destroys, 

Is heaven compared with losing you ! 

Ah me ! had Heaven and she proved kind. 

Then full of age, and free from care. 
How blest had I my life resigned. 

Where first I breathed this vital air: 
But since no flatt'nng hope remains. 

Let me my wretched lot pursue ; 
Adieu ! dear friends and native scenes! 

To all but grief and love, adieu ! 



YOUNG DAMON. 
Tune—" Highland Lamentation." 
This air is by Oswald.* 

Amidst a rosy bank of flowers 

Young Damon mourn'd his forlorn fate 
In sighs he spent his languid hours. 

And breathed his woes m lonely state ; 
Gay joy no more shall ease his mind. 

No wanton sports can soothe his care. 
Since sweet Amanda proved unkind. 

And left him full of black despair. 

His looks, that were as fresh as morn, 

Can now no longer smiles impart ; 
His pensive soul on sadness borne. 

Is rack'd and torn by Cupid's dart ; 
Turn, fair Amanda, cheer your swain, 

Unshroud him from this vale of woe ; 
Range every charm to soothe the pam 

That in his tortured breast doth grow. 



KIRK WAD LET MK BE. 

Tradition in tlie western parts ^ti 
Scotland tells that this old song, oi' 
which there are still three stanzas ex- 
tant, once saved a covenanting clers>'- 
man out of a scrape. It was a Mttle prior 
to the Revolution — a period when being 
a Scots covenanter was being a felon— 
that one of their clergy, who was at 
that very time hunted by the merciless 
soldiery, fell in by accident with a party 
of the military. The soldiers were not 
exactly acquainted with the person of 
the reverend gentleman of Avhom they 
were in search; but from suspicious 



The words are by Fergusson- 



REMARKS ON SCOTTISH SONG. 



323 



circumstances, they fancied that they 
had got one of that cloth and oppro- 
bious persuasion among them in the 
person of this stranger. ' 'Mass J ^hn, " 
to extricate himself, assumed a freedom 
of manners very uniiite the gloomy 
strictnessof his sect: and, among other 
convivial exhibitions, sung (and, some 
traditions say, composed on the spur 
of the occasion) " Kirk wad lee me be," 
with such eifect, that the soldiers 

swore he was a d d honest fellow, 

and that it was impossible he could 
belong to those hellish conventicles; 
and so gave him his liberty. 

The first stanza of this song, a little al- 
tered, is a favourite kind of dramatic in- 
terlude acted at country weddings in the 
south-west parts of the kingdom. A 
young fellow is dressed up like an old 
l)eggar; a peruke, commonly made of 
carded tow, represents hoary locks; an 
old bonnet; a ragged plaid, or surtout, 
bound with a straw rope for a girdle; 
a pair of old shoes, with straw ropes 
twisted round his ankles, as is done by 
shepherds in snowy weather: his face 
they disguise as like wretched old age 
as they can : in this plight he is brought 
into the wedding house, frequently to 
the astonishment of strangers, who are 
not in the secret, and begins to sing — 

" Oh, I am a silly auld man, 
My name it is auld Glenae,"* &c. 

He is asked to drink, and by and by 
to dance, which, after some uncouth 
excuses, he is prevailed on to do, the 
fiddler playing the tune, which here is 
commonly called " Auld Glenae;" in 
short, he is all the time so plied with 
liquor that he is understood to get in- 
toxicated, and, with all the ridiculous 
gesticulations of an old drunken beg- 
gar, he dances and staggers until he 
falls on the floor; yet still, in all his 
liot, nay, in his rolling and tumbling on 
the floor, with some or otiier drunken 
motion of his body, he beats time to 
the music, till at last he is sup;:)Osedto 
be carried out dead drank. 



* Glenae, on the small river Ae, in Annan- 
dale ; the seat and desisfnation of an ancient 
branch, and the present representative, of the 
gallant but unfortunate Dalzels of Carnvvath. 
—This is the A utkor' f note. 



There are many versions of this Nithsdale 
song ; one c f the least objectionable is as fol- 
lows ; — 

I AM a silly puir man, 

Gaun hirpim owre a tree ; 
For courtmg a lass in the dark 

The kirk came haunting me. 
If a' my rags were off. 

And nought but hale claeson, 
Oh, I could please a young lass 

As well as a richer man. 

The parson he ca'd me a rogue, 

The session and a' thegither. 
The justice he cried, You dog, 

Your knavery I'll consider; 
Sae I drapi down on my knee 

And thus did humbly pray, 
Oh, if ye'U let me gae free, 

My liale confession ye'se hae. 

'TAvas late on tysday at e'en, 

When the moon was on the grass ; 
Oh, just for charity's sake, 

1 was kind to a beggar lass. 
She had begg'd down Annan side, 

Lochmaben and Hightae ; 
Butdeil an awmous she got, 

Till she met wi' auld Glenae, &c. 



JOHNNY FAA, OR THE GIPSY 
LADDIE. 

The people in Ayrshire begin this 
song — 
" The gipsies cam to my Lord Cassilis' j-ett." 

They have a great many more stanzas 
in this song than I ever yet saw in any 
printed copy. The castle is still re- 
maining at Maybole where his lordship 
shut up his wayward spouse, and kept 
her for life. 

The gipsies came to our lord' s gate, 
And wow but they sang sweetly ; 

They sang sae sweet, and sae complete. 
That dow^n came the fair lady. 

When she cam.e tripping down the stair, 

And a' her maids before her. 
As soon as they saw her weel-fard face. 

They coost the glamour o'er her. 

" Gar tak fra me this gay mantile. 

And bring to me aplaidie ; 
For if kith and kin and a' had sworn, 

I'll follow the gipsj- laddie. 

" Yestreen I lay in a wer-1-made bed, 

And my good lord beside me ; 
This night I'll lie in a tenant's barn, 

Whatever shall betide me." 

Oh ! come to your bed, says Johnny Faa^ 
Oh ! come to your bed, my dearie ; 

For I vow and swear by the hilt of my Fword 
That your lord shall nae mair come near y«. 



BURNS' WORKS. 



" 111 go lo bed to my Johnny Faa, 

And I'll go to bed to my dearie ; 
For I vow and swear by what pass'd yestreen 

That my lord shall nae mair come near me." 

" 111 mak a hap to my Johnny Faa, 
And I'll mak a hap to my dearie ; 

And he's get a' the coat gaes round, 
And my lord shall na mair come near me." 

And when our lord came hame at e'en. 

And speir'd for his fair lady, 
The lane she cried, and the other replied, 

She"s awa' wi' the gipsy laddie. 

'' Gac saddle to me the black, black steed, 
Gac saddle and make him ready ; 

Before that I either eat or sleep 
I'll gae seek my fair lady." 

And we were fifteen well-made men, 

Although we were nae bonny ; 
And we were a' put down forane, 

A fair, young, wanton lady. 



TO DAUNTON ME. 

The two following old stanzas to 
tliis tune have some merit, — 

To daunton me, to daunton me, 

Oh, ken ye what it is that '11 daunton me ? — 

There's eighty-eight and eighty-nine, 

And a' that I'hae borne sinsyne. 

There's cess and press,' and Preshytrie, 

I think it will do meikle for to daunton me. 

But to wanton me, to wanton me. 

Oh, ken ye what it is that wad wanton me ? 

To see guid corn upon the rigs. 

And banishment amang the \Vhigs, 

And right restored where right sud be. 

1 think it would do meikle for to wanton me. 



ABSENCE. 
A SONG in the manner of Slienstone. 

The song and air are both by Dr. 
Blacklock. 
The following are two stanzas of this strain :— 

Ye harvests that wave in the breeze 

As far as the view can extend ; 
Ye mountains umbrageous with trees. 

Whose tops so majestic ascend ; 
Your landscape what joy to survey, 

Were Melissa with me to admire ! 
Then the harvests would glitter how gay, 

How majestic the mountains aspire ! 

Ye zephyrs that visit my fair. 
Ye sunbeams around her that play, 

Does her sympathy dwell on my care. 
Does she number the hours of my stay? 



1 Scot and lot. 



First perish ambition and wealth. 

First perish all else that is dear. 
E'er one sigh should escape her by stealth, 

E'er my absence should cost her one tear. 



I HAD A HORSE, AND I HAD 
NAE MAIR. 

This story is founded on facto A 
John Hunter, ancestor of a very re- 
spectable farming family, who live in a 
place in the parish, I think, of Galston, 
called Bar-mill, was the luckless hero 
that " had a horse and had nae mair." 
— For some little youthful follies he 
found it necessary to make a retreat to 
the West Highlands, where "he fee'd 
himself to a Higldand laird," for that 
is the expression of all the oral editions 
of the song I ever heard. The present 
Mr. Hunter, who told me the anecdote, 
is the great grandchild of our hero. 

I HAD a horse, and I had nae mair, 

I gat him frae my daddy , 
My purse was light, and heart was sair. 

But my wit it vvas fu' ready. 
And sae I thought me on a time, 

Outwittens of my daddy. 
To fee mysel to a lawland laird, 

Wha had a bonny lady. 

I wrote a letter, and thus began, — 

"• Madam, be not offended, 
I'm o er the lugs in luv wi' you, 

And care not though ye kend it : 
For I get little frae the laird. 

And far less frae my daddy. 
And I would blithely be the man 

Would strive to please my lady." 

She read my letter, and she leugh, 

" Ye needna been sae blate, man ; 
You might hae come to me yoursel. 

And tauld me o' your state, man ; 
You might hae come to me, yoursel, 

Outwittens o' ony body, 
And made John Gowkstou of the laird. 

And kiss'd his bonny lady." 

Then she pat siller in my purse, 

We drank wine in a coggie ; 
She fee'd a man to rub my horse. 

And wow but I was vogie ! 
But 1 gat ne'er sae sair a fleg, 

Since I cam frae my daddy. 
The laird came, rap, rap, to the yett 

When I was wi' his lady. 

Then she pat me below a chair,- 

And happ'd me wi' a plaidie ; 
But I Vvas like to swarf wi' fear. 

And wished me wi* my daddy, 
The laird went out, he saw nae me, 

I went when I v/as ready ; 
I promised, but I ne'er gaed back 

To kiss my bonny lady. 



REMARKS ON SCOTTISH SONG. 



325 



UP AND WARN A', WILLIE. 

Tnis edition of the bOng I. got from 
Tor.i Xiel, of facetious fame, in Edin- 
!^i7rj"!i. Tlie expression "Up and 
Avaru a', Willie," alludes to tlie Cran- 
tara, or warning of a clan to arms. 
Not understanding tiiis, the Low- 
landers in the west and south say, "Up 
and v^aur them a'." &c. 



AULD ROB MORRIS. 

It is remark-worthy that the song of 
" Hooly and Fairly." in all the old 
editions of it, is called " The Drunken 
Wife o' Galloway," which localises it 
to that country. 

MITHER. 

There's Auld Rob Morris that wins in yon 
glen, [auld men : 

He's the king o' gude fallows, and wale o 

Has fourscore o' black sheep, and fourscore 
too, 

And auld Rob Morris is the man ye maun loo. 

DOUGHTER. 

Haud your tongue, mither, and let that abee, 
For his eild and my eild can never agree ; 
They'll never agree, and that will be seen, 
For he is fourscore, and I'm but fifteen. 



Haud you tongue, doughter, and lay by your 
pride, [bride ; 

For he's be the bridegroom, and ye's be the 
He shall lie by your side, and kiss ye too, 
Aald Ro'o Morris is the man ye maun loo. 

DOUGHTER. 

Auld P.ob Morris, I ken him fu' weel, 
His back sticks out like ony peat-creel ; 
He's out-shinn'd, in-kneed, and ringle-eed,too, 
Auld Rob Morns is the man I'll ne'er loo. 



Though auld Rob Morris be an elderly man, 
Yet his auld brass it will buy a new pan ; 
Then, doughter, ye should na be sae ill to shoo. 
For auld Rob Morris is the man ye maun loo. 

DOUGHTER. 

But auld Rob Morns I never will hae. 

His back is sae stiff, and his beard is grown 

, gray ; 

I had rather die than live wi' him a year, 

Sae mair of Rob Morris I never will hear. 

The " Drunken wife o' Galloway" is in an- 
other strain ; the idea is original, and it can- 
not be denied that the author, whoever he 
was, has followed up the conception v/ith 
great spirit. A few verses will prove this. 



W?^ 



Oh ! what had I ado for to marry, [canary ; 
My wife she drinks naething but sack and 
I to her friends complain'd right early, 
Oh ! gin my wife wad drink hooly and fairly. 

IJooly and fairly : hooly and fairly^ 

Oh! gin my wife luad dj-ink hooly and fairly t 

First she drank Croramie, and syne she drank 

Garie, 
Then she has drunken my bonny gray mearie. 
That carried me through the dub and the 

lairie. 
Oh ! gin my wife wad drink hooly and fairly 1 

The verj-- gray mittens that gacd .m my ban's. 
To her airi neibour wife she luis laid them in 
)awns, [dearly, 

my bane-headed staff that I lo'ed sae 
Oh ! gin my wife wad drink hooly and fairly ! 

I never was given to wrangling nor strife, 
Nor e'er did refuse her the comforts of life ; 
Ere it come to a war, I'm aye for a parley, 
Oh ! gin my wife wad drink hooly and lairly ! 

A pint wi' her cummers I wad her allow ; 
But when she sits down she fills hersel fou' ; 
And when she is fou'she's unco camstrairie. 
Oh ! gin my wife wad drink hooly and fairly ! 

An when she comes hame she lays on the 

lads. 
And ca's a' the lasses baith limmers and jads ; 
And I my ain sell an auld cuckold carlie. 
Oh ! gin my wife wad drink hooly and fairly 



NANCY'S GHOST. 
This song is by Dr. Blacklock. 

Ah ! hapless man, thy perjured vow 
Was to thy Nancy's heart a grave ! 

The damps of death bedev/'d my brow 
Whilst thou the dying maid could save < 

Thus spake the vision, and withdrew ; 

From Sandy's cheeks the crimson fled ; 
Guilt and Despair their arrovv'S threw. 

And now behold the traitor dead ! 

Remember, swains, my artless strains, 
To plighted faith be ever true ; 

And let no injured maid complain 
She finds false Sandy live in you ! 



TUNE YOUR FIDDLES, &a 

This song was composed by the Rev. 
John Skinner, nonjuror clergyman at 
Linshart, near Peterhead. He is like- 
Avise author of " Tullochgorum," 
" E^vie wi' the Crooked Horn," "John 
o' Badeuyon," &c., and, what is of still 
more consequence, he is one of the 
worthiest of mankind. He is the 
author of an ecclesiastical history of 



826 



BURNS' WORKS. 



Scotland. The air is by Mr.Marsliall, 
butler to the Duke of Gordon — the first 
composer of strathspeys of the age. 
I liavo been told by somebody, who 
l\ad it ot Marshall liimself, that "he took 
the idea of his three most celebrated 
pieces, "The Marquis of Huntley's 
Reel," "His Farewell," and "Miss 
Admiral Gordon's Reel," from the old 
iiir, " Tho German Lairdie." 

Tune your fiddles, tunc them sweetly, 
Play the Marquis' Reel discreetly ; 
Here we are a band completely 

Fitted to be jolly. 
Come, my boys, be blithe and gaucie, 
Everj'- youngster choose his lassie, 
Dance wi' life, and be not saucy, 

Shy, nor melancholy. 

Lay aside j'^our sour grimaces, 
Clouded brows, and drumlie faces; 
Look about and see their graces. 

How they smile delighted. 
Now's the season to be merry, 
Hang the thoughts of Charon's ferry, 
Time enough to turn camr,t.;-v. 

When we're old and doittu. 



GIL MORICE.* 

This plaintive ballad ought to have 
been called Child Morice, and not Gil 
Morice. In its present dress, it has 
gained immortal lionour from Mr. 
Home's taking from it the groundwork 
of his line tragedy of " Douglas. " But 
I am of opinion that the present ballad 
is a modern composition, — perhaps not 
much above the age of the middle of 
the last century; at least I should 
be glad to see or hear of a copy of the 
present words prior to 1G50. That it 
was taken from an old ballad, called 
" Child Maurice," now lost, I am in- 
clined to believe ; but the present one 
may be classed with " Hardyknute," 
"Kenneth," " Duncan, the Laird of 
Woodliouselee," " Lord Livingston," 
" Binnorie," "The Death of Monteith," 
and many other modern productions, 
which have been swallowed by many 



* Mr. Pinkerton remarks that, ■ in many 
parts of Scotland, " Gill" at this day signifies 
"Child," as is the casein the Gaelic: thus, 
"Gilchrist" means the "Child of Christ.''— 
"Child" seems also to have been the custom- 
ary appellation of a young nobleman, when 
about fifteen years of age. 



readers as ancient fragments of old 
poems. This beautiful plaintive tune 
was composed by Mr. M'Gibbon, the 
selecter of a collection of Scots tunes. 

In addition to the observations on 
Gil Morice, I add that, of the songs 
which Captain Riddel mentions, " Ken- 
neth" and " Duncan" are juvenile com- 
positions of Mr. M'Kenzie, " The Man 
of Feeling." — MTvenzie's father 
showed them in jMS. to Dr. Blacklock 
as the productions of his son, irom 
which the doctor rightly prognosti- 
cated that the young poet would make, 
in his more advanced years, a respect- 
able figure in the world of letters. 

This I had from Blacklock. 



WHEN I UPON THY BOSOM 
LEAN.* 

This song was the work of a veiy 
worthy facetious old fellow, John 
Lapraik, late of Dalfram, near Muii-- 
kirk, which little property he v.t.r 
obliged to sell in consequence of some 
connection as security for some persons 
concerned in that villanous bubble,. 
The Ayr Bank. He has often trld 
me that he composed this song one cuiy 
when his wife had been fretting over 
their misfortunes. 

When I upon thy bosom lean. 

And fondly clasp thee a', my ain, 
I glory in the sacred ties 

That made us ane wha ance wefe twain: 
A mutual flame inspires us baith, * 

The tender look, the melting kiss : 
Even years shall ne'er destroy our love, 

But only gie us change o' bliss. 

Hae I a wish ? it's a' for thee ; 

I ken thy wish is me to please ; 
Our moments pass sae smooth away. 

That numbers on us look and gaze. 
Weel pleased they see our happy days. 

Nor Envy's sel find aught to blame ; 
And aye when weary cares arise. 

Thy bosom still shall be my hame. 



* This is the song " that some kind husband 
had addrest to some sweet wife," alluded to 
in the " Epistle to J. Lapraik." 

There was ae sang amang the rest, 
Aboon them a' it pleased me best. 
That some kind husband had addrest 

To some sweet wife ; [breast. 
It thrilled the heart-strings through the 

A' to the life. 



REMARKS OX SCOTTISH SOXG. 



I'll lay me there, and lake my rest, 

And it that aught disturb my dear, 
I'll bid her laugh her cares away, 

And beg her"not to drap a tear ; 
Hae I a joy ? it's a' her ain ; 

United still her heart and mine ; 
They're like the woodbine round the tree. 

That's twined till death shall them disjoin. 



THE HIGHLAND CHARACTER; 

OR, GAKB OF OLD GAUL. 

This tune was the composition of 
Gen. Reid, and called by him "The 
Highland, or 42d Regiment's March." 
The words are by Sir Harry Erskine. 

In the garb of old Gaul, with the fire of old 
Rome, [we come, 

From the heath-cover'd mountains of Scotia 

Where the Romans endeavour'd our country 
to gain ; [in vain. 

But our ancestors fought, and they fought not 

No effeminate customs our sinews unbrace, 
No luxurious tables enervate our race, 
Our loud-sounding pipe bears the true mar- 
tial strain. 
So do we the old Scottish valour retain. 

We're tall as the oak on the mount of the vale. 
As swift as the roe which the hound doth as- 
sail, [pear. 
As the full moon in autumn our shields do ap- 
Minerva would dread to encounter our spear. 

As a storm in the ocean when Boreas blows, 
So are we enraged when we rush on our foes ; 
We sons of the mountains, tremendous as 
rocks, [ing strokes. 

Dash the force of our foes with our thunder- 



LEADER-HAUGHS AND YARROW. 

There is in several collections the 
old song of " Leader- Haughs and Yar- 
row." It seems to have been the work 
of one of our itinerant minstrels, as he 
calls himself, at the conclusion of his 
song, "Minstrel Burn." 

iVhen Phoebus bright, the azure skies 

With golden rays enlight'neth. 
He makes all Nature's beauties rise, 

Herbs, trees, and flowers he quickeneth, 
Amongst all those he makes his choice. 

And with delight goes thorow. 
With radiant beams and silver streams 

O'er Leader-Haughs and Yarrow. 

When Aries the day and night 

In equal length divideth, 
Auld frosty Saturn takes his flight, 

Nae langer he abideth : 



Then Flora (Jueen, with mantle green, 

Casts aff her former sorrow. 
And vows to dwell vvitli Ceres' sel, 

In Leader-Haughs and Yarrow. 

Pan playing on his aiten reed, 

And shepherds him attending. 
Do here resort their flocks to feed, 

The hills and haughs commending. 
With cur and kent upon the bent. 

Sing to the sun good-morrow, 
And swear nae fields mair pleasure yielda 

Than Leader-Haughs and Yarrow. 

A house there stands on Leaderside,* 

Surmounting my descriving. 
With rooms sae rare, and windows fair, 

Like Dedalus' contriving: 
Men passing by, do alien cry. 

In sooth It hath nae marrow ; 
It stands as sweet on Leaderside, 

As Newark does on Yarrow. 

A mile below wha lists to ride, 

They'll hear the mavis singing ; 
Into St. Leonard's banks she'll bide. 

Sweet birks her head o'erhinging ; 
The lintwhite loud and Progne proud, 

With tuneful throats and narrow. 
Into St. Leonard's banks they sing, 

As sweetly as in Yarrow. 

The lapwing lilteth o'er the lee. 

With nimble wing she sporlcth ; 
But vows she'll flee far frae the tree, 

Where Philomel resorteth : 
By break of day the lark can say, 

I'll bid you a good-morrow, 
I'll streek my wing, and, mounting, sing 

O'er Leader-Haughs and Yarrow. 

Park, Wanton-waws, and Wooden-cleugh, 

The East and Western Mainses, 
The wood of Lauder's fair enougii. 

The corn is good in Blainshes : 
Where aits are fine, and sold by kind, 

That if ye search all thorow 
Mearns, Buchan, Mar, nane better are 

Than Leader-Haughs and Yarrow. 

In Burmill Bog, and Whiteslade Shaws, 

The fearful hare she haunteth ; 
Brigh-haugh and Braidwoodshiel she knaws. 

And Chapel-wood frequenteih ; 
Yet when she irks, to Kaidsly birks 

She rins and sighs for sorrow. 
That she should leave sweet Leader-Haughs, 

And cannot win to Yarrow! 

What sweeter music wad ye hear 

Than hounds and beagles crying? 
The startled hare rins hard with fear. 

Upon her speed relying: 
But yet her strength it fails at length, 

Nae beilding can she burrow. 
In Sorrel's field, Cleckman. or Hag's, 

And sighs to be in Yarrow. 



* Thirlstane Castle, an ancient seat of the 
Earl of Lauderdale. 



C2R 



BURNS' WORKS. 



For Rockwood, Ringwood, Spoty, Shag, 

With sight and scent pursue her, 
Till, ah ! her pith begins to flag, 

Nae cunning can rescue her; 
O'er dub and dyke, o'er seugh and syke, 

She'll rin the fields all thorow, 
Till fail'd, she fa's in Leader-Haughs, 

And bids fareweel to Yarrow. 

Sino- Erslington and Cowdenknows, 

Where Homes had ance commanding ; 
And Drygrange with the milk-white ewes, 

'Twixt Tweed and Leader standing ; 
The birds that flee throw Reedpath trees. 

And Gledswood banks ilk morrow, 
May chant and sing — Sweet Leader-Haughs, 

And bonny howms of Yarrow. 

But Minstrel Burn cannot assuage 

His grief while life endureth, 
To see the changes of this age, 

That fleeting time procureth : 
For mony a place stands in hard case, 

Where blithe fowk kend nae sorrow, 
With Homes that dwelt on Leaderside, 

yVnd Scots that dwelt on Yarrow. 



THIS IS NO MY AIN HOUSE. 

The first half stanza is old, tlie rest 
is Ramsay's. The old words aie — 

Oh, this is no my ain house. 
My ain house, my ain house ; 

This is no my ain house, 
I ken by the biggin o't. 

Bread and cheese are^my door-cheeks, 
My door-cheeks, my door-cheeks ; 

Bread and cheese are my door-cheek's, 
And pancakes the riggin o't. 

This is no my ain wean. 

My ain wean, my ain wean, 
This IS no ray ain wean, 
I ken by the greetie o't. 

I'll tak the curchie af¥ my head ; 

Aff my head, aff my head ; 
I'll take the curchie aff my head. 

And row't about the feetie o't. 

The tune is an old Highland air, 
called" Shuan truish williglian.^' 



LADDIE, LIE NEAR ME. 

This song is by Dr. Blacklock. 

Hark, the loud tempest shakes the earth to 

its centre, ' [ture ; 

How mad were the task on a journey to ven- 

How dismal's my prospect, of life I am weary, 

Oh, listen, my love, I beseech thee to hear me, 

Hear r:ic, hear me, in tenderness hear me ; 

All the lang winter night, laddie lie near 

me. 



Nights though protracted, though piercing 
the weather, fgether; 

Yet summer was endless when we were tO' 
Now smce thy absence I feel most severely. 



Joy is extinguished and being is dreary. 
Dreary, dreary, painful and dreary ; 
All the long winter night laddie 



[me. 
ie near 



THE GABERLUNZIE MAN.* 

The Gaberlunzie Man is supposed to 
commemorate an intrigue of James V. 
Mr. Callander of Craigforth published, 
some years ago, an edition of "Christ's 
Kirk on the Green," and the " Gaber- 
lunzie Man," with notes critical and 
historical. James V. is said to have 
been fond of Gosford, in Aberlady 
parish; and that it was suspected by 
his contemporaries that, in his fre- 
quent excursions to that part of the 
country, he had other purposes in view 
besides golfing and archery. Thre& 
favourite ladies — Sandilands, Weir, 
and Oliphant (one of them resided a1 
Gosford, and the others in the neigh- 
borhood) — were occasionally visited by 
their royal and gallant admirer, which 
gave rise to the following satirical 
advice to his Majesty, from Sir DavUl 
Lindsay, of the Mount, Lord Lyon.f 

Sow not yere seed on Sandilands, 
Spend not yere strength in Weir 

And ride not on ^-ere Oliphants, 
For gawing o' yere gear. 

The pawky auld carle came o'er the lea, 
Wi' many good e'ens and daysto>me. 
Saying Guidwife, for your courtesie. 

Will ye lodge a silly poor man ? 
The night was cauld, the carle was wat. 
And down ayont the ingle he sat ; 
My daughter's shoulders he 'gan to clap, 

And cadgily ranted and sang. 

Oh, wow ! quo' he, were I as free 
As first when I saw this countrie, 
How blithe and merry wad I be ! 

And I wad never think lang. 
He grew canty, and she grew fain ; 
But little did her auld minny ken 
What thir slee twa togither were sayin', 

When wooing they were sae thrang. 

And oh, quo' he, and ye were as black 
As e'er the crown of my daddy's hat, 
'Tis I wad lay thee on my back, 
And awa' wi' me thou should gang. 



* A wallet-man, or tinker, v.-ho appears to 
have been formerly a Jack-of-all-trades. 

t Sir David was Lion King-at-Arms undef 
James V. 



REMARKS ON SCOTTISH SONG. 



329 



And oh, quo' she, an I were as white 
As e'er the snaw lay on the dike, 
I'd deed me braw, and lady like 
And avva' with thee I'd gang. 

Between the twa was made a plot : 
They raise awee before the cock, 
And vviHly tliey shot the lock. 

And fas't to the bent are they gane. 
Up in the morn the auld wife raise. 
And at her leisure put on her claise ; 
Syne to the servant's bed she gaes, 

To speer for the silly poor man. 

Sne gaed to the bed where the beggar lay, 
The strae was cauld, he was away ! 
She clapt her hand, cried dulefu" day ! 

For some of our gear will be gane. 
Some ran to coffer, and some to kist, 
But nougiu was stown that could be mist, 
She danced her lane, cried. Praise be blest ! 

I have lodged a leal poor man. 

Since naething's awa', as we can learn. 

The kirn's to kirn, and milk to earn, [bairn, 

Gae but the house, lass, and wauken my 

And bid her come quickly ben. 
The servant gaed where the daughter lay, 
The sheets were cauld, she v/as away, 
And fast to her guidwife did say. 

She's aff with the Gaberlunzie man. 

Oh, fy ! gar ride, and fy ! gar rin. 
And haste j^e find these traitors again ; 
For she's be burnt, and he's be slain. 

Tiie wearifu' Gaberlunzie man! 
Some rade upo' horse, some ran a-foot. 
The wife was wud, and out o' her wit. 
She could na gang, nor yet could she sit, 

But aye did curse and did ban. 

Meantime far hind out o'er the lea, 

Fu' snug in a glen where nane could see. 

The twa, with kindly sport and glee, 

Cut frae a new cheese a whang. 
The priving was good, it pleased them baith ; 
To lo'e for aye he gae her his aith ; 
Quo' she, to leave thee I will be laith, 

My winsome Gaberlunzie man. 

Oh, kenn'd ray minnie I were wi' you, 
'11-fardly wad she crook her mou, 
Sic a poor man she'd never trow, 

After the Gaberlunzie man. 
My dear, quo' he, ye'er yet o'er young, 
^nd hae nae learned the beggar's tongue, 
To follow me frae town to town, 

And carry the Gaberlunzie on. 

A^'i' cauk and keel I'll win your bread, 

\nd spindles and whorles for them wha need, 

'.Vhilk is a gentle trade indeed. 

To carry the Gaberlunzie on. 
'11 bow my leg, and crook my knee, 
\nd draw a black clout o'er my ee ; 
A cripple, or blind, they will ca' me. 

While we shall be merry and sing. 



THE BLACK EAGLE. 
This song is by Dr. Fordyce, whose 
merits as a prose writer are well 
known. 



Hark ! yonder eagle lonely wails ; 
His faithful bosom grief assails ; 
Last night I heard him in my dream, 
When death and woe were all the theme. 
Like that poor bird I make my moan, 
I grieve for dearest Delia gone ; 
With him to gloomy rocks I fly, 
He mourns for love, and so do" I. 

'Twas mighty love that tamed his breast, 
'Tis tender grief that breaks his rest ; 
He droops his wings, he hangs his head. 
Since she he fondly loved was dead. 
With D Jia's breath my joy expired, 
'Twas Delia's smiles my fancy fired ; 
Like that poor bird, I pine, and prove 
Nought can supply the place of love. 

Dark as his feathers was the fate 
That robbed him of his darling mate^ 
Dimm'd is the lustre of his eye. 
That wont lo gaze the sun-bright sky. 
To him is now forever lost 
The heartfelt bliss he once could boast ; 
Thy sorrows, hapless bird, display 
An image of my soul's dismay. 



JOHNNIE COPE. 

This satirical song was composed to 
commemorate Geuertil Cope's defeat at 
Prestoiipans in 1745, wlienlie marched 
against the Clans. 

The air was the tune of an old song 
of which I have heard some verses, but 
now only remember the title, which 
was, 

"Will ye go to the coals in the morning?'' 

Cope sent a challenge frae Dunbar — 
Charlie, meet me, and ye daur. 
And I'll learn you the art of war. 
If you'll meet me i' the morning. 



Hey, Johnnie Cope, are ye waking yet? 
Or are your drums a-beating yet ? 
If ye were waking I would wait 
To gang to the coals i' the morning. 

When Charlie looked the letter upon. 
He drew his sword the scabbard from. 
Come follow me, my merry, merry men. 
To meet Johnnie Cope i' the morning. 

Now, Johnnie Cope, be as good as your wor 
And try our fate wi' fire and sword. 
And di'nnatak wing like a frighten'd bird. 
That's chased frae its nest i' the morning. 

When Johnnie Cope he heard of this, 
He thought it wadna be amiss 
To hae a horse in readiness 
To flee av.-a i' the morning. 

Fy, Johnnie, now get up and rin. 
The Highland bagpipes make a dm, 



330 



BURNS' WOuJLS. 



It's best to sleep in a hale skin. 
For "twill be a bluidy morning. 

Yon's no the tuck o' England's doim, 
But it's the war-pipes deadly strum : 
And poues the claymore and the gun— 
It will be a bluidy morning. 

When Johnnie Cope to Dunbar came, 
They speir'd at hira, '' Where's a' your men ?' 
" The deil confound me gin I ken, 
For I left them a' i' the morning." 

Inovv, Johnnie, trouth ye was na blate, 
To come wi' the news o' your ain defeat, 
And leave your men in sic a strait, 
Sae early i' the morning. 

Ah ! faith, quo' Johnnie, I got a fieg, 

With theirclaym(.)resand pliilabeg : 
If I face them again, dcil break my leg, 
Sae I wish you a good morning. 

Hey, Johnnie Cope, are ye waking yet ? 
Or are your drums a-beating yet ? 
If ye were waking I would wait 
To gang to the coals i' the morning. 



Yet cfcaste to upbraid the soft choice, 
I Though it ne'er should determine for thee. 
I If my heart in her joy may rejoice, 
Unhappy thou never canst be. 



CEASE, CEASE, MY DEAR FRIEND, 
TO EXPLORE. 

The song is by Dr. Blacklock; I 
believe, but I am not quite certain, 
that the air is his too. 

Cease, cease mv dear friend to explore 

From whence and how piercing my smart ; 
Let the charms of the nymph I adore 

Excuse and interpret my heart. 
Then how much I admire ye shall prove. 

When like me ye are taught to admire. 
And imagine how boundless my love, 

When you number the charms that inspire. 

Than sunshine more dear to my sight. 

To my life more essentia! than air. 
To my soul she is perfect delight, 

To my sense all ihnt's pleasing and fair. 
The swains who her beauty behold, 

With transport applaud every charm, 
And swear that the breast must be cold 

Which a beam so intense cannot warm. 

Does my boldness offend my dear maid ? 

Is my fondness loquacious and free .> 
Are my visits too frequently paid ? 

Or my converse unworthy of thee ? 
Yet when grief was too big for my breast, 

And labour'd in sighs to complain, 
Its struggles I oft have supprest. 

And silence imposed on my pain. 

Ah, Strephon, how vain thy desire, 
Thy numbers and music how vain, 

While merit and fortune conspire 
The smiles of the nymph t obtain. 



AULD ROBIN GRAY. 

Tins air was formerly called " The 
Brideg-room Greets when the Sur 
Gangs Down." The words are hy 
Lady Ann Lindsay, of the Balcairas 
family. 

When the sheep are in the fauld, and a' the 

kye at hame, 
And a' the weary warld lo sleep are gane : 
The waes of my heart fa' in showers frae my 

ee, 
When my guidman sleeps sound by me. 

Young Jamie lo'ed me weel, and he sought 
me for his bride. [side ; 

But saving a crown he had naething else be- 
To make that crown a pound, my Jamie gaed 
to sea, [me. 

And the crown and the pound were baith for 

He had na been gane a year and a day. 
When my father brak his arm, and my Jamie 
at the sea, [stownaway; 

My mither she fell sick, and our cow was 
And auld Robin Gray came a courting to m^. 

My father couldna work, and my mither 
couldna spin, [na win • 

I toil'dday and night, but their bread! could- 

Auld Rob maintain'd them baith, and wi'tear^ 
in his ee, 

Said, " ]enny, ybr theh- sakes^ oh, marry me." 

My heart it said nae, for I look'd lor Jamie 
back, [a wrack ; 

But the wind it blew high, and the ship it was 
'^■■-- -'-'- '-^ —as a wrack, why didna Jenny 
live to say, Wae's me ? [die. 

My father argued sair, though my mither did- 
na speak. [break ; 

She lookit in my face till my heart was like to 

Sae they gied him my hand, though my heart 
WPS in the sea. 

And auld Robin Gray is a guid man to me. 

I hadna been a wife a week but only four. 
When, sitting sae mournfully at the door, 
I saw my Jamie's wraith, for I couldna think 
it he, [thee." 

Till he said, " I'm come back for to marry 

Oh, sair did we greet, and mickle did we say. 
We tool: but ae kiss, and we tore ourselves 

away : 
I wish I were dead ! but I'm no like to die. 
And why do I live to say, Wae's me ' 

I gang like r. ghaist, and I carena to spin, 
I darena think on Jamie, for that wad be a 
But I'll do my best a guid wife f be, [sin- 
For auld Robin Gray is kind unto me. 



The ship it 
And why do I 



REMARKS ON SCOTTISH SONG. 



331 



DONALD AND FLORA.* 

This is one of those fine Gaelic tunes 
preserved from time immemorial in 
the Hebrides; tliey seem to be the 
groundwork of many of our finest 
Scots pastoral tunes. The words of 
this song- were written to commemorate 
the unfortunate expedition of General 
3urgoyne in America, in 1777. 

When merry hearts were gay, 
Careless of aught but play, 
Poor Flora slipt away, 

Sad'ning to Mora ;t 
Loose flow'd her coal black hair. 
Quick heaved her bosom bare, 
As thus to the troubled air 

She vented her sorrow : — 

" Loud howls the northern blast. 
Bleak is the dreary waste ; 
Haste thee, O Donald, haste, 

Waste to thy Flora ! 
Twice tvv'elve long months are o'er, 
Since, on a foreign shore, 
You promised to fight no more. 

But meet me in Mora. 

'* ' Where now is Donald dear ?' 
Maids cry with taunting sneer; 
'Say is he still sincere 

To his loved Flora ?' 
Parents upbraid my moan, 
Each heart is turned to stone ; 
Ah ! Flora, thou'rt now alone, 

Friendless in Mora ! 

" Come, then, oh come away ! 
Donald, no longer stay ; — 
Where can my rover stray 

From his loved Flora ? 
Ah ! sure he ne'er can be 
False to his vows and me — 
Oh, Heaven ! is not yonder he 

Bounding o'er Mora?" 

" Never, ah ! wretched fair ! 
(Sigh'd the sad messenger,) 
Never shall Donald mair 

Meet his loved Flora ! 
Cold, cold beyond the main, 
Donald, thy love lies slain : 
He sent me to soothe thy pain, 

Weeping in Mora. 



* "This fine ballad," says Cuimingham, "is 
ihe composition of Hector Macneil, Esq.. au- 
thor of the celebrated poem, ' Will and Jean,' 
and other popular works. Hector Macneil 
was looked up to as Scotland's hope in song 
when Burns died ; his poems flew over the 
north like wildfire, and half a dozen editions 
were bought up in a year. The Donald of the 
song was Captain Stewart, who fell at the 
battle of Saratoga, and Flora was a young 
lady of Athole, to whom he was betrothed." 

t A small valley in Athole, so named by the 
two lovers. 



'' Well fought our gallant men, 
Headed by brave Burgoyne, 
Our heroes were thrice led on 

To British glory. 
But, ah ! though our foes did flee, 
Sad was the loss to thee. 
While every fresh victory 

Drown'd us in sorrow. 

" ' Here, take this trusty blade, 
(Donald expiring said) 
Give it to yon dear maid, 

Weeping in Mora. 
Tell her, 6 Allan ! tell, 
Donald thus bravely fell. 
And that in his last farewell 

He thought on his Flora.' " 

Mute stood the trembling fair. 
Speechless with wild despair, 
Then, striking her bosom bare, 

Sigh'd out, '■ Poor Flora!" 
O Donald ! oh, well a day ! 
Was all the fond heart could say ; 
At length the sound died away 

Feebly, in Mora. 



THE CAPTIVE RIBBAND. 



Robie donna 



This air is called 
Gorach." 

Dear Myra, the captive ribband's mine, 
'Twas all my faithful love could gain ; 

And would you ask me to resign 
The sole reward that crowns my pain ? 

Go, bid the hero who has run 

Through fields of death to gather fame. 
Go, bid him lay his laurels down, 

And all his well-earn'd praise disclaim. 

The ribband shall its freedom lose, 
Lose all the bliss it had with you. 

And share the fate I would impose 
On thee, wert thou my captive too. 

It shall upon my bosom live. 
Or clasp me in a close embrace : 

And at its fortune if you grieve, 
Retrive its doom and take its place. 



THE BRIDAL O'T. 

This song is the work of a Mr. Alex- 
ander Ross, late schoolmaster at Loch 
lee, and author of a beautiful Scots 
poem called " The Fortunate Shep- 
herdess." 

Thev say that Jockey'll speed well o't. 

They say that Jockey'll speed weelo't 
For he grows brawer ilka day— 

I hope we'll hae a bridal o't : 
For yesternight, nae farder gane. 

The backhouse at the side wa" o't, 
He there wi' Meg was moreen seen-' 

1 hope we'll h^e a bridal o't. 



532 



BURNS' WORKS. 



An we had but a bridal o't, 

An we had but a bridal o't, 
We'd leave the rest unto guid luck, 

Although there should betide ill o't ; 
For bridal days are merry times, 

And young lolks like the comin' o't, 
And scribblers they bang up their rhymes. 

And pipers hae the bumming o't. 

The lasses like a bridal o't, 

The lasses like a bridal o't, 
Their braws maun be in rank and file, 

Although that they should guide ill o't: 
The bottom o' the kist is then 

Turn'd up unto the inmost o't. 
The end that held the kecks sae clean, 

Is now become the teemest o't. 

The bangster at the threshing- o't. 

The bangster at the threshing o't, 
Afore it comes is fidgin fain. 

And ilka day's a clashing o't: 
He'll sell his jerkin for a groat, 

His linder for anither o't, 
And e'er he want to clear his shot, 

His sark'll pay the tither o't. 

The pipers and the fiddlers o't. 

The pipers and the fiddlers o't, 
Can smell a bridal unco far, 

And like to be the meddlers o't ; 
Fan* thick and threefold they convene, 

Ilk ane envies the tither o't. 
And wishes nane but him alane 

May ever see anither o't. 

Fan they hae done wi' eating o't. 

Fan they hae done wi' eating o't, 
For dancing they gae to the green. 

And aiblins to the beating o't ; 
He dances best that dances fast, 

And loups at ilka reesing o't, 
And claps his hands frae hough to hough. 

And furls about the feezings o't. 



TODLEN IIAME. 

This is perhaps the first bottle song 
that ever was composed. The author's 
name is unknown. 

i^/HEN I've asaxpence under my thumb. 

Then I'll get credit in ilka town : 

But aye when I'm poor they bid me gae by ; 

Oh, poverty parts good company. 
Todlen hame, todlen hame,' 
CouQna my love come todlen hame ? 

Fair fa' the goodwife, and send her good sale, 
She gies us white bannocks to drink her ale, 
Syne if her tippeny chance to be sma', 
VVe'U tak a good scour o't, and ca't awa'. 
Todlen hame, todlen hame. 
As round as a neep come todlen hame. 



FaUy when— the dialect of Angus. 



My kimmer and I lay down to sleep, 
And twa pint-stoups at our bed-feet ; [dry. 
And aye when we waken'd, we drank them 
What think ye of my wee kimmer and I ? 

Todlen but, and todlen ben, 

Sae round as my love comes todlen hame. 

Leezc me on liquor, my todlen dow, 

Ye're aye sae good humour'd when weetinf 

your mou ; 
When sober sae sour, ye'll fight wi' a flee. 
That 'tis a blithe sight to the bairns and me. 
When todlen hame, todlen hame, [hame 
When round as a neep ye come todlen 



THE SHEPHERD'S PREFERENCE. 

This song is Dr.Blacklock's. — Idont 
know how it came by the name; bui; 
the oldest appellation of the air was, 
"Whistle and I'll come to you, my 
lad." 

It has little affinity to the tune com- 
monly known by that name. 

In May, when the daisies appear on the green, 
And flowers in the field and the forest are 
seen ; [sprung. 

Where lilies bloom'd bonnj', and hawthorns up 
A pensive young shepherd oft whistled and 
sung; [flowers. 

But neither the shades nor the sweets of tlie 
Nor the blackbirds that warbled in blossom- 
ing bowers. 
Could brighten his eye or his ear entertain. 
For love was his pleasure, and love was h.s 
pain. 

The shepherd thus sung, while his fiocks all 

around [sound ; 

Drew nearer and nearer, and sigh'd to the 
Around, as in chains, lay the beaMs of the 

wood. 
With pity disarm'd and with music subdued. 
Young Jessy is fair as the spring's early 

flower, [bower ; 

And Mary sings sweet as the bird in her 
But Peggy is fairer and sweeter than they. 
With looks like the morning, with smiles like 

the day. 



JOHN O' BADENYON. 

This excellent song is the composi 
tion of my worthy friend, old Skinner 
at Linshart. 

When first I cam to be a man. 

Of twenty years or so, 
I thought myself a handsome youth, 

And fain the world would know : 
In best attire I stept abroad. 

With spirits brisk and gay. 
And here and there, and 'everywhere, 

Was like a morn in I\Iay. , 



REMARKS ON SCOTTISH SONG. 



333 



No care had I, nor fear of want, 

But rambled up and down. 
And for a beau I might have pass'd 

In country or in town ; 
I still was pleased where'er I went, 

And when I was alone, 
I tuned my pipe and pleased myself 

Wi' John o' Badenyon. 

Now in the days of 3'outhful prime, 

A mistress I must find, 
For love, they say. gives one an air. 

And even imnr'oves the mind ^ 
On Phillis, fair above the rest. 

Kind fortune ti.xed my eyes ; 
Her piercing beauty struck my heart, 

And she became my choice : 
To Cupid, then, with hearty prayer, 

1 offered many a vow ; [swore, 

And danced, and sung, and sigh'd, and 

As other lovers do : 
But, when at last I breathed my flame, 

I found her cold as stone : 
1 left the jilt, and tuoned my pipe 

To John o' Badenyon. 

When love had thus my heart beguiled 

With foolish hopes and vain ; 
To friendship" s port I steered my course, 

"And laugh'd at lover's pain : 
A friend I got by lucky chance, 

'Twas something like divine 
An honest friend's a precious gift, 

And such a gift was mine : 
And now, whatever might betide, 

A happy man was I, 
In any strait I knew to whom 

1 freely might apply : 
A strait soon came, my friend I tried ; 

He heard, and spurn 'd my moan ; 
I hied me home, and pleased mysell, 

With John o' Badenyon. 

I thought I should be wiser next, 

And would -3. patriot turn. 
Began to dote on Johnny Wilkes, 

And cry up Parson Home. 
Their manly spirit I admired. 

And praised their noble zeal. 
Who had with fleiming tongue and pen 

Maintain'd the public weal; 
But ere a month or two had past, 

I found myself betray'd, 
'Twas ji«//and party after all. 

For all the stir they made ; 
At last I saw these factious knaves 

Insult the very throne, 
I cursed them a', and tuned my pipe 

To John o' Badenyon. 

And now, ye youngsters everywhere, 

Who want to make a shovv,' 
Take heed in time, nor vainlj' hope. 

For happiness below ; 
What you may fancy pleasure here 

Is but an empty name. 
For girls, and friends, and books, and so, 

You'll find them all the saipe. 
Then be advised, and warning take 

From such a man as me, 
I'm neither Pope, nor Cardinal, 

Nor one of high degree : 



You'll find displeasure everywhere ; 

Then do as I have done, 
E'en tune your pipe, and please yourself 

With John o' Badenyon. 



A WAUKRIFE MINNIE.* 

I PICKED up tliis old song and tune 
from a country girl in Nitlisdale. — 1 
never met with it elsewhere in S>.ut- 
laud: — 

Whare are you gaun, my bonny lass ? 

Whare are you gaun, my hinnie ? 
She answer'd'me right saucilie— 

An errand for my minnie. 

Oh, whare live ye, my bonny lass? 

Oh, whare live ye, my hinnie ?— 
By yon burn-side, gin ye maun ken, 

In a wee house wi' my minnie. 

But I foor up the glen at e'en 

To see my bonny lassie ; 
And lang before the gray morn cam 

She wasna half sae saucie. 

Oh, weary fa' the waukrife cock, 
And the foumart lay his crawin ! 

He wauken'd the auld wife frae her sleep 
A wee blink o' the dawin. 

An angry wife I wat she raise. 
And o'er the bed she brought her. 

And wi' a mickle hazle rung 
She made her a weel-pay'd dochter. 

Oh, fare thee weel, my bonny lass ! 

Oh, fare thee weel, my hinnie ! 
Thou art a gay and a bonny lass. 

But thou hast a waukrife minnie. 

The editor thinks it respectful to the 
poet to preserve the verses he thus re- 
covered, — R. B. 



TULLOCHOORUM. 

This first of songs is the master- 
piece of my old friend Skinner. He 
was passing the day. at the town of 
Cullen. I think it was [he should 
have said Eloii\ in a fiiend's house, 
whose name was Montgomery. Mk'. 
Montgomery observing, en passant, 
that the beautiful reel of Tvllochgorni.i 
wanted words, she begged them of Mr. 
Skinner, who gratified her wishes, and 
the wishes of every lover of Scotch 
song, in this most excellent ballnd. 

* A v/atchful moth<?: . 



«i34 



BTTKJSS' WORKS. 



These particulars I had from the 
author's son, Bishop Skinner, at Aber- 
deen. 

Come, gie's a sang, Montgomery cried, 
And lay your disputes all aside ; 
What signifies't for folks to chide 

For what was done before them ? 
Let Whig and Tory ail agree, 

Whig and Tory, Whig and Tory, 
Whig and Tory all agree. 

To drop their Whig-mig-morum. 
Let Whig and Tory all agree 
To spend the night in mirth and glee. 
And cheerful sing alang wi' me 

The Reel o' TuUochgorum. 

Oh, TuUochgorum's my delight, 

It gars us a' in ane unite. 

And ony sumph that keeps up spite, 

In consMence I abhor him ; 
For blithe and clieerie we'll be a'. 

Blithe and chcerie, blithe and cheerie. 
Blithe and cheerie we'll be a' 

And make a happy quorum : 
For blithe and cheerie we'll be a', 
As lang as we hae breath to draw. 
And dance, till we be like to fa', 

The Reel o' TuUochgorum. 

What needs there be sae great a fraise 
Wi' dringing dull Italian lays? 
I wadna gie our ain Strathspeys 

For half a hundcr score o' 'em. 
They're dowf and dowic at the best, 
Dowf and dowie, dowf and dowie, 
Dowf and dowic at the best, 

Wi' a' their variorum ; 
They're dowf and dowie at the best, 
Their allegros and a' the rest ; 
"They canna please a Scottish taste, 

Compared wi' TuUochgorum. 

Let warldly worms their minds oppress 
Wi' fears o' want and double cess, 
And sullen sots themsels distress 

Wi' keeping up decorum : 
Shall we sae sour and sulky sit. 
Sour and sulky, sour and sulky. 
Sour and sulky shall we sit, 

Like old philosophorum? 
Shall we sae sour and sulky sit, 
Wi' neither sense, nor mirth, nor wit. 
Nor ever try to shake a tit 

To the Reel o' TuUochgorum ? 

May choicest blessings e'er attend 
Each honest, open-hearted friend. 
And calm and quiet be liis end. 

And all that's good watch o'er him ! 
May peace and plenty be his lo-t, 

Peace and plenty, peace and plenty. 
Peace and plenty be his lot. 

And daintits a great store o' 'em; 
May peace and plenty be his lot, 
Unstain'd by any vicious spot. 
And may he never want a groat. 

That's fond o' TuUochgorum ! 

But for the sullen frampish fool 
That love's to be oppression r. tool. 



May envy gnaw his rotten soul. 

And discontent devour him ! 
May dool and sorrow be his chance 
Dool and sorrow, dool and sorrow, 
Dool and sorrow be his chance. 

And nane say, Wae's me for him ! 
May dool and sorrow be his chance, 
Wi' a' the ills that come Irae France, 
Whae'er he be that winna dance 

The Reel o' TuUochgorum ! 



AULD LANG SYNE. 

Ramsay here, as is usual with him, 
has taken the idea of the song, and the 
first line, from the old fragment, 
which may be seen in the Mudcum, 
vol. V. 

Should auld acquaintance be forgot. 

And never thought upon, 
The flames of love extinguish'd. 

And freely past and gone ? 
Is thy kind heart now grown s:) cold. 

In tl\at loving breast of thine, 
That thou canst never once reflect 

On auld lang syne ! 

If e'er I have a house, my dear. 

That truly is call'd mine, 
Aiid can afford but country cheer. 

Or aught that's good therein ; 
Though thou wert rebel to the king, 

And beat with wind and rain, 
Assure thyself of welcome love. 

For auld lang syne. 



THE EWIE Wr THE CROOKED 
HORN. 

Another excellent song of old Skin- 
ner's. 

Oh, were I able to rehearse. 

My ewie's praise in proper verse, 

I'd sound it out as loud and fierce 

As ever piper's drone could blaw. 
The ev/ie wi' the crookit horn 
Weel deserved baith garse and corn ; 
Sic a ewie ne'er was born 

Hereabout, nor far awa', 
Sic a' ewie ne'er was born 

Hereabout, nor far awa'. 

I never needed tar nor keil 
To mark her upo' hip or heel. 
Her croo.kit horn did just as weel 

To ken her by amo' them a' ; 
She never threaten'd scab nor rot, 
But kecpit aye her ain jog trot, 
Baith to the fauld and to the cot. 

Was never sweir to lead nor ca', 
Baith to the fauld and to the cot. 

Was never sv/cir to lead nor ca'. 



EEMAKKS ON SCOTTISH SONG. 



335 



Cauld nor hunger never dang her. 
Wind nor rain could never wrang her ; 
Ance she lay an ouk. and langer, 

Out aneath a wreath o' snaw ; 
Whan itherevvies lap the dyke, 
And ate the kail for a' the tyke, 
My ewie never play'd the like, 

But tyc'd about the barnyard wa' ; 
Mv ewie never play'd the like, 

But tyc'd about the barnyard wa', 

A better nor a thriftier beast 

Nae honest man could weel hae wist, 

Puir silly thing, she never mist 

To hae ilk year a lamb or twa. 
The tirst she had I gae to Jock, 
To be to him a kind of stock. 
And now the laddie has a flock 

Of mair nor thirty head to ca', 
And now th» laddie has a flock 

Of mair than thirty head to ca'. 

The neist I gae to Jean ; and now 
The bairn's sac braw, has fauld sae fu'. 
That lads sae thick come her to woo. 

They're fain to sleep on hay or straw. 
I iookit aye at even' for her. 
For fear the foumart might devour her. 
Or some mischanter had come o'er her, 

Gin the beastie bade awa'. 
Or some mischanter had come o'er her, 

Gin tlie beastie bade awa'. 

Yet last ouk, for a' my keeping, 
(Wha can speak it without weeping ?) 
A villain cam when I was sleeping. 

And sta' my ewie, horn and a' ; 
I sought her sair upo" the morn, 
And down aneath a buss o' thorn, 
I got my ewie's crookit horn. 

But ah, my ewie was awa' ! 
I got my ewie's crookit horn. 

But ah, my ewie was awa'. 

Oh ! gin I had the loun that did it. 
Sworn I have as weel as said it. 
Though a' the world should forbid it, 

I wad gie his neck a thra' : 
I never met wi' sic a turn 

As this sin' ever I was born. 
My ewie wi' the crookit horn, 

Puir silly ewie, stown awa' ! 
My ewie wi' the crookit horn, 

Puir sillie ewie, stown awa'. 



HUGHIE GRAHAM. 

There are several editions of tliis 
ballad. — This here inserted is from 
oral tradition in Ayrshire, where, 
when I was a bov, it was a popular 
song. — It originally had a simple old 
tune, which I have forgotten. 

Our Lords are to the mountains gane, 

A hunting o' the fallow deer. 
And they have grippet Hughie Graham, 

For s'Lcaling o' the bishop's mare. 



And they hae tied him hand and foot, 
And led him up through Stirling toun ; 

The lads and lassies met him there, 
Cried, Hughie Graham, thou art a loon. 

Oh, lowse my right hand free, he says. 
And put my braid sword in the same, 

He's no in Stirling toun this day 
Daur tell the tale to Hughie Graham. 

Up then bespake the brave Whitefoord, 

As he sat by the bishop's knee. 
Five hundred white stots I'll gie you. 

If ye'll let Hughie Graham gae free. 

Oh, haud your tongue, the bishop says, 
And wi' your pleading let me be ; 

For though ten Grahams were in his coat, 
Hughie Graham this day shall die. 

Up then bespake the fair Whitefoord, 
As she sat by the bishop's knee ; 

Five hundred white pence I'll gie yoii. 
If ye'll gie Hughie Graham to me. 

Oh, haud your tongue now, lady fair, 
And wi' your pleading let it be ; 

Although ten Grahams were in his coat. 
It's for my honour he maun die. 

They've taen him to the gallows knov/e. 

He looked to the gallows tree, 
Yet never colour left his cheek. 

Nor ever did he blink his ee. 

At length he looked round about. 

To see whatever he could spy : 
And there he saw his auld father, 

And he was weeping bitterly. 

Oh, haud your tongue, my father dear, 
And wi' your weeping let it be ; 

Thy weeping's sairer on my heart 
Than a' that they can do to me. 

And ve may gie my brother John 
My sword that's bent in the middle clear; 

And let him come at twelve o'clock, . 
And see me pay the bishop's mare. 

And ye may gie my brother James 

My sword that's bent in the middle brown; 

And bid him come at four o'clock. 
And see his brother Hugh cut down. 

Remember me to Maggy, my wife. 
The neist tirae ve gang o'er the moor ; 

Tell her she sta v/' the bishop's mare. 
Tell her she was the bishop's whore. 

And ye may tell my kith and kin 
I never did disgrace their blood ; 

And v/hen they meet the bishop's cloak 
To mak it shorter by the hood. 



A SOUTHLAND JENNY. 

This is a popular Ayrshire song, 
though the notes were never taken 
down before. It, as well :is many of 



9^6 



BURNS' WORKS. 



tlie ballad tunes in this collection, was 
written from Mrs. Burns' voice. 

The following' verse of this strain will suf- 
fice :— 

A SouTHi-AND Jenny that was right bonny, 
She had for a suitor a Norlan' Johnnie ; 
But he was siccan a bashfu' wooer 
That he could scarcely speak unto her. [ler. 
But blinks o' her beauty and hopes o' her sil- 
Forced him at last to tell his mind till 'er ; 
My dear, quo' he, we'll nae longer tarry, 
Gi ' ye can love me, let's o'er" the muir and 
marry. 



MY TOCHER'S THE JEWEL. 

This tune is claimed by Nathaniel 
Gow. It is notoriously taken from 
" The Muckin' o' Geordie's Byre." It 
is also to be found, long prior to Na- 
thaniel Gow's era, in Aird's " Selec- 
tion of Airs and Marches," the first 
edition under the name of " The High- 
way to Edinburgh. " 



THEN, GUIDWIFE, COUNT THE 
LA WIN'. 

The chorus of this is part of an old 
song, one stanza of which I recollect: — 

Every day my wife tells me 
That ale and brandy will ruin me ; 
But if guid liquor be my dead, 
This shall be written on my head — 
Oh, guidwife, count the lawin'. 



THE SOGER LADDIE. 

The first verse of this is old; the 
rest is by Ramsay. The tune seems 
to be the same with a slow air called 
" Jacky Hume's Lament," or "The 
Hollin Buss," or " Ken ye what Mego' 
the Mill has gotten!" 

My soger laddie is over the sea. 

And he'll bring gold and silver to me. 

And when he comes hame he will make me I 

his lady; 
My blessings gang wi' him, my soger laddie. 

My doughty laddie is handsome and brave. 
And can as a soger and lover behave ; 
He's true to his country, lo love he is steady— 
There's few to compare wi :ny soger laddie. 



Oh, shield him, ye angels, frae death in alarms; 
Return him with laurels to my longing arms, 
Syne frae all my care ye'll pleasantly free me, 
When back to my wishes my soger ye gie mc. 

Oh, soon may his honours bloom fair on hi> 

brow. 
As quickly they must, if he get but his due ; 
For in noble actions his courage is ready. 
Which makes me delight in my soger laddie. 



WHERE WAD BONNY ANNIE 
LIE? 

The old name of the tune is, — 

Whare'll our guidman lie ? . 
A silly old stanza of it runs thus- - 

Oh, whare'll our gxiidman lie, 

Guidman lie, guidman lie. 
Oh, whare'll. our guidman lie. 

Till he shute o'er the simmer ? 

Up amang the i-_a-bavvks. 
The hen-bau'ks, the hen-bawks, 

Up amang the hen-bawks. 
Among the rotten timmcr. 

Ramsay's song is as follows : — 

Oh, where wad bonny Annie lie? 
Alane nae mair ye maunna lie ; 
Wad ye a guidman try. 

Is that the thing ye'rc lacking? 
Oh, can a lass sae young as I 
Venture on the bridal tye ? 
Syne down wi' a guidman lie ? 
I'm fley'd he'd keep me waukin. 

Never judge until ye try ; 
?.Iak me your guidman, I 
Slianna hinder you to lie 

And sleep till ye be weary, " 
What if I should wauking lie. 
When the ho-boys are gaun by. 

Will ye tent me when I cry. 
My dear, I'm faint and eerie? 

In my bosom thou shalt lie. 
When thou waukrife art, or dry. 
Healthy cordial standing by 

Shall presently revive thee. 
To your will I then comply ; 
Join us, priest, and let me try. 
How I'll wi' a guidman lie, 

Wha can a cordial gie me. 



GALLOWAY TAM. 

I HAVE seen an interlude (acted on 
a wedding) to this tune, called " The 
Wooing of the Maiden." These en- 
tertainments are now much worn o;;!; 
in t iiis pr.rt of Scotland. Two are still 



REMARKS ON SCOTTISH SONa. 



387 



retained in Nitlisdaie, vi/.., " Silly 
Pair Auld Glenae," and tliis one, "The 
Wooing of tlie Maiden, " 

Oh, Galloway Tam cam here to woo, 
We'd better hae gien him the bawsent cow. 
For our lass Bess may curse and ban 
The wanton wit o' Galloway Tam. 
A cannie tongue and a glance fu' gleg, 
A buirdly back and a lordly leg, 
A heart like a fox and a look like a lamb— 
Oil, these are the marks o' Galloway Tam. 

Oh, Galloway Tam came here to shear. 
We'd better hae gien him tlie guid gray 

meare, [guidman, 

rit kiss'd the gudev,rife and he dang'd the 
And these are the tricks o' Galloway Tam. 
He owed the kirk a twalmonth's score, 
And he doff'd his bonnet at the door ; 
The loon cried out wha sung the psalm, 
*' There's room on the stool for Galloway 

Tam !" 

Ye lasses o' Galloway, frank and fair, 
Tak tent o' yer hearts and sor^ething mair ; 
And bar your doors, your windows steek, 
For he comes stealing !ike night and sleep : 
Oh, nought frae Tam but^^Jvae ye' 11 win. 
He'll sing ye dumb and he 11 dance ye blin' ; 
And aff your balance he'll cowp ye then— ^ 
Tak tent o' the deil and Galloway Tam. 

" Sir," quoth Mess John, " the wanton deil 
Has put his birn 'boon gospel kiel, 
And bound yere cloots in his black ban' :" 
" For mercy loos't !" quo' Galloway Tam. 
" In our kirk-fauld we maun ye bar, 
And smear your fleece wi' covenant tar, 
And pettle ye up a dainty lamb," — 
'"Among the yowes," quo' Galloway Tam. 

Eased of a twalmonth's graceless deeds. 

He gaylie doff'd his sackloth weeds. 

And 'mang the maidens he laughing cam' — 

""Tak tent o' your hearts" quo' Galloway 

A cannie tongue and a glance fu' gleg, [Tam. 

A buirdly back and a lordly leg, 

A heart like a fox, and a look like a lamb — 

Oh, these are the marks o' Galloway Tam. 



AS I CAM DOWN BY YON 
CASTLE WA'. 

This is a very popular Ayrshire 
song. 

As I cam down by yon castle wa', 

And in by yon garden green, 
Oh, there I spied a bonny bonny lass, 

But the flower-borders were us between. 

A bonny, bonny lassie she was, 

As ever mine eyes did see ; 
Oh, five hundred pounds would I give 

For to have such a pretty, bride as thee. 

To have such a pretty bride as me, 
Young man ye are sairly mista'en ; 



Though ye were king o' fair Scotland, 
I wad disdain to be your queen. 

Talk not so very high, bonny lass. 
Oh, talk not so very, very high: 

The man at the fair, tiiat wad sell, 
He maun learn at the man that wad buy. 

Z trust to climb a far higher tree. 

And herry a far richer nest. 
Tak this advice o' me, bonny lass. 

Humility wad set thee best. 



LORD RONALD, MY SON. 
This air, a very favouriie one in 
Ayrshire, is evidently the original of 
Lochaber, In this manner most of our 
finest more modern airs Lave had their 
origin. Some early minstrel, or musi- 
cal shepherd, composed the simple art- 
less original airs; which being picked 
up by the more learned musician took 
the improved form they bear. 



O'ER THE MOOR AMANG THE 
HEATHER. 

This song is the composition of Jean 
Glover, a girl who was not only a 
whore but also a thief, and in one or 
oiher character has visited most of the 
correction houses in the West. She 
was born, I believe, in Kilmarnock. — 
I took the song down, from her sing- 
ing, as she was strolling through the 
country with a sleight-of-hand black- 
guard. 

Comin' through the craigs o' Kyle, 
Amang the bonny blooming heather, 
There I met a bonny lassie. 
Keeping a' her yowes thegither. 

O'er the moor amang the heather. 
O'er the moor amang the heather. 
There I met a bonny lassie. 
Keeping a' her yowes thegither. 

Says I, my dearie, where is thy hame. 
In moor or dale, pray tell me whether? 
She says, I tent the fleecy flocks 
That feed amang the blooming heather. 

We laid us down upon a bank, 
Sae warm and sunny was the weather, 
She left her flocks at large to rove 
Amang the bonny blooming heather. 

While thus we lay she sang a sang. 
Till echo rang a mile and farther. 
And aye the burden o' the sang 
Was o er the moor aman.^ the heathtto 



iiZS 



BURNS' WORKS 



She charm'd my heart, and aye sinsyne, 
I couldna think on ony iiher ; 
By sea and sky she shall be mine ' 
The bonny lass amang the heather. 



TO THE ROSEBUD 

This song is the composition of one 
Jolinson, a joiner in the neighborhood 
of Belfast. Tlie tune is by Oswald, 
a -tered, evidently, from ' ' Jockie's 
Gray Breeks." 

All hail to thee, thou bawmy bud. 
Thou charming child o' simmer, hail ; 
Ilk fragrant thorn and lofty wood 
Does nod thy welcome to the vale. 

See on thy lovely fauldcd form. 
Glad Phoebus smiles wi' cheering eye, 
"VVhile on thy head the dewy morn 
Has shed the tears o' siient joy. 

The tuneful tribes frae yonder bower 
Wr sangs o' joy thy presence hail : 
Then haste, thou bawmy, fragrant flower, 
And gie thy bosom to the gale. 

And see the fair, industrious bee. 
With airy wheel and soothing hum, 
Flies ceaseless round thy parent tree. 
While gentle breezes, trembling, come. 

If ruthless Lir.a pass this way. 
She'll pu' thee frae thy thorny stem • 
A while thou'lt grace her virgin breast, 
But soon thou'lt fade, my bonny gem. 

Ah 1 short, too short, thy rural reign, 
And yield to fate, alas ! thou must , 
Bright emblem of the virgin train. 
Thou blooms, alas ! to mix wi' dust. 

Sae bonny Liza hence may learn, 
Wi' every youthfu' maiden gay. 
That beauty, like the simmer's rose. 
In time shall wither and decay. 



THE TEARS I SHED MUST EVER 
FALL. 

Tnis soni^ of genius was composed 
by a Miss Cranstoun.* It wanted four 
lines to make all the stanzas suit the 
music, which I added, and are the 
first four of the last stanza. 



* She was the sister of George Cranstoun, 
one of the senators of the College of Justice 
in Scotland, and became the second wife of 
the celebrated Professor Dugald Stewart, 
whom she outlived for many years, having 
died in July, 1838, at the age of seventy-one. 



The tears I shed must ever fall ; 

I weep not for an absent swain, 
For time can past delights recall. 

And parted lovers meet again. 
I weep not for the silent dead, 

Tiieir toils are past, their sorrows o'er, 
And those they loved their steps shall tread 

And death shall join, to part no more. 

Though boundless oceans roll between, 

If certain that his heart is near, 
A conscious transport glads the scene, 

Soft IS the sigh, and sweet the tear. 
E'en when by death's cold liand removed. 

We mourn the tenant of the tomb, 
To think that even in death he loved, 

Can cheer the terrors of the gloom. 

But bitter, bitter is the tear 

Of her who slighted love bewails ; 
No hopes her gloomy prospect cheer, 

No pleasing melancholy hails. 
Hers are the pangs of wounded pride, 

Of blasted hope, and wither'd joy : 
The prop she lean'd on pierced her side. 

The flame she fed burns to destroy. 

In vain does memory renew 

The scenes once tinged in transport's dye : 
The sad reverse soon meets the view. 

And turns the thought to agony. 
Even conscious virtue cannot cure 

The pangs to ever}^ feeling due ; 
Ungenerous youth, thy boast how poor 

To steal a heart, and break it loo ? 

A'o cold approach^ no alter d Miien, 

yusi iv/iat ivotild make suspicion start : 
No pause the dire cxtj-ones between^ — 

He made me blest, and broke my heart : 
Hope from its only anchor torn. 

Neglected, and neglecting all. 
Friendless, forsaken, and forlorn, 

The tears I shed must ever fall. 



DAINTY DAVIE. - 

This song, tradition says, and the 
composition itself confirms it, was com- 
posed on the Rev. David Williamson's 
begetting the daughter of Lady Cherry- 
trees with child, while a party of 
dragoons were searching her house to 
apprehend him for being an adherent 
to the solemn league and covenant. 
The pious woman had put a It-dy's 
nightcap on him, and had laid him 
a- bed with her own daughter, and 
passed liim to the soldiery as a lady, 
her daughter's bedfellow. A muti- 
lated stanza or two are to be found in 
Herd's collection, but the original song 
consists of five or six stanzas; and weru 
their delicacy ee|ual to their wit ana 
Mimmur, they would merit a place in 



REMARKS ON SCOTTISH SONG. 



3b8 



The first stanza is as 



any collection, 
follows: — • 



Being pursued by the dragoons, 
Within my bed he was laid down ; 
And weel I wat he was wortii his room, 
For he was my dainty Davie. 

Ramsay's song, "Lucky Nansy," 
though he calls it an old song with 
additions, seems to be all his own, ex- 
cept the chorus: 

I was aye teUing you, 
Lucky Nansy, lucky Nansy, 
Auld springs wad ding the new, 
But ye wad never trow me. 

Which I should conjecture to be part 
of a song, prior to the affair of Wil- 
liamson, 

The following is the version of " Lucky 
Nansy," by Ramsay, of which the poet 
speaks :— 

V/hile fops, in soft Italian verse. 
Ilk fair ane's een and breast rehearse. 
While sangs abound, and sense is scarce. 

These lines I have indicted : 
But neither darts nor arrows here, 
Venus nor Cupid shall appear, 
And yet with these tine sounds I swear. 

The maidens are delighted. 

I was aye telling you. 
Lucky Nansy, lucky Nansy, 
Auld springs wad ding the new, 
But ye wad never trow me. 

Nor snaw with crimson will I mix, 
To spread upon my lassie's cheeks. 
And syne th' unmeaning name prefix, 

Miranda, Chloe, Phillis. 
I'll fetch nae smile from Jove 
My height of ecstasy to prove. 
Nor sighing, thus present my love 

With roses eke and lilies. 

I was aye telling you, &c. 

But stay — I had amaist forgot 
My mistress, and my sang to boot. 
And that's an unco faut, I wot: 

But, Nansy, 'tis nae matter. 
Ye see, I clink my verse wi' rhyme. 
And, ken ye, that atones the crime ; 
Forbye, how sweet my numbers chime, 

And slide away like water ! 

I was aye telling you, &c. 

Now ken, my reverend sonsy fair. 
Thy runkled cheeks and lyarL hair, 



Thy haff-shut een and hodling air. 

Are a' my passion's fuel. 
Nae skyring gowk, my dear, can see. 
Or love, or grace, or neaven in thee ; 
Yet thou hast charms enow for me. 

Then smile, and be na cruel. 

Leeze me on thy snawy pow, 
Lucky Nansy, lucky Nansy ; 
Dryest wood wUl eithest low, 
And, Nansy, sac will ye now. 

Troth I have sung the sang to you, 
Which ne'er anither bard wad do ; 
Hear, then, my charitable vow, 

Dear, venerable Nansy. 
But if the warld my passion wrang, 
And say ye only live in sang, 
Ken, I despise a slandering tongue, 

And sing to please my fancy. 
Leeze me on thy, &c. 



BOB O' DUNBLANE. 

Ramsay, as usual, has modernirjed 
this song. The original, which I 
learned on the spot from my old host 
ess in the principal inn there, is: — 

Lassie, lend me your braw hemp heckle. 
And I'll lend you my thripplin-kame ; 

My heckle is broken, it canna be gotten. 
And we'll gae dance the bob o' Dunblane. 

Twa gaed to the wood, to the wood, to the 

wood, 

Twa gaed to the wood — three came hame ; 

An it be na weel bobbit, weel bobbit, wecl 

bobbit. 

An it be na weel bobbit, we'll bob it again 

I insert this song to introduce the 
following anecdote, which I liavo 
heard well authenticated: — In the 
evening of the day of the battle of 
Dunblane, ( Sheriff-Muir, ) when tlic 
action was over, a Scots officer in 
Argyle's army observed to his Grace 
that he was afraid the rebels would 
give out to tlie world that the?/ had 
gotten the victory. — •' Weel, weel," 
returned his (Irace, alluding to the 
foregoing ballad , " if they think it be 
na weel bobbit, we'll bob it aoain " 



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her to use Sapolio in all her house-cleaning work. 10c. a cake at all 
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" Woman's Place To Day" is a brillian+. humorous, witty and logical defence 
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" In speaking of Dr. Dix, it seems that the reverend gentleman has ytj little 
left of him l)y the quick witted and keen-eyed woman; indeed if Dr Dix h:is 
habitually made statements open to similar refutais, and the women he has 
known have been ready with M^s. Blake to show up his mistakes, it i3 little to 
wonder that he advocates a silence on their part "'— The Washington xiEFVu- 

LIC. 

For sale by all Newsdealers and Booksellers The trade supplied by the 
American News Company and Branches. 

JOHN W. LOYELL & CO., 

14, & 16 Vessy St., New York 



liOVELL'S LIBRARY ADVERTISER. 



THE 200111 ISSUE OF LOVELL'S LIBRARY. 



D 






u 



THE 



RIM'S PR 




By JOHN BUNYAN. 



No. 200, in Lovell's Library 20 cents 

The publishers of Lovell's Library have signalized the issue of fhe2C0ih 
volume of their now successful series by the publication of Bunyan's renowntd 
allegory, "The Pilgrim's Progress." A people's edition of this inimitable work 
of genius fittingly marks the progress of this library— i s advance upon its 
competitors, and the favor and acceptance of its successive issues by the read- 
ing public of America. *' The Pilgrim's Progress "' is supposed to be a dream, 
and to allegorize the life of a Christian from his conversion to his death. His 
doubts are giants; his sins, a pcdler's pack; his B ble, a cha-t; his minister, 
Evangelist ; his conversion, a flight from the City of Destruction ; his struggle 
with besetting sins, a fight with Apollyon ; his death, a toilsome passage over 
a deep stream, and so on. 

'The style of Bunyan is delightful to every reader and invaluable as a 
study to every person who wishes to obtain a wiue command over the English 

language For magnificence, for pathos, for vehement exhortation, 

for subtle disquisition, for every purpose of the poet, the orator and the divine, 
this homely dialect, the dialect of plain workingmen, was perfectly sufficient. 
There is no book in our libraries on which we could so readi y stake the fame 
of the ocl unpolluted English language ; no botk which shows so well how 
rich that language is in its own proper wealth, and how liftlo it has been im- 
proved by all that it has borrowed We are not afraid to say that, 

though there v. ere many clever men in England during the latter half of the 
.Seventeenth Century, there were only two creative minds. One of those minds 
produced the ' Paradise Lost ;' the other, ' The Pilgrim's Progress.' "—Lord 
Uacaulay. 

JOHN W. LOVELL CO., 

14 & 16 Vesey Street, New York. 



'*The Most Popular Books of the Day." 



Works of "The Duchesa" 

PUBLISHED BY 

JOHN W^. LOVELL COMPANY, 
14 & 16 Vesey St., New York. 

PHYLLIS. 

1 Vol., 12 mo., handsome cloh, gilr, $1.00. The saTDe in paper, 50 cents. 

Also, lu Lovell's Library, Kg. 78, 20 ceins. 

" Itis facinating to a liigh degree * * * Y/^ lay aside tlie bjok 

with a sigh of regret that the pleasure is over, after mingling our laughter and 

tears wiiu the varying Icrtuues of the charming heroine."— W. Y. Evening 

Mail. 

'•Certainly 'Phyllis' i8 one of the most fascinating little nvels that has 
appeared this ye^r.—New Oriea?is 2'inies. 



MOLLY BAWH. 

1 Vol., 12 mo., handsome cloth, gilt, $1.00. The same in paper, 50 cents. 
Also, in Lovell's Library, No. 76, 20 cents. 
"Is really an attractive novel. Full of vrit, spirit and gayety, the book con- 
tains, nevertheless, touches of the most exquisite pathos. There is plenty of 
fun and humor which never degenerates into vulgarity. All women will envy, 
and all men fall in love with her. Higher praise we surely cannot give."— 
London Athencuim. 



AIRY FAIRY LILIAN. 

1 Vol., 12mo., in handsome cloth, gilt, $1.00. The same in paper, 50 cents. 
Als ), In lovell's Library, No 92, 20 cents. 

'• The airiest and most sparkling contribution of the month is the brilliant 
romance by the author of " Phyllis.' It is as full of variety and refreshment as 
a bright and changeful June morning. Its narrative is animated, its di-ilogu<' 
crisp and spirited, it>^ tone pure aud wholesome, and its characters are grace- 
fully contrasted. '—Harper s Magazine. 



MRS. GEOFFREY, 

1 Vol., 12mo,, in handsome cloth, gilt, $1.0('. The same in paper, 50 cents. 
Also, in LovELL s library, No. 9.', 20 cents. 

" The chi f charm of the book is the beautiful yoing Irish girl, Mona Sculiy 
Mrs. Geofliey, whose naturalne.ss, ioyousness, true-heartedness, and right- 
miiidednes-i are as welcome as a morning in Spring, or a breath of fresh air 
from the sea. bhe is an embodiment of health, humor and love, and nnless we 
a;o greatly mistaken she will long be remembered by the readers of contem- 
porary fiction."— i\r. T. Evening Mail. 

JOHIQ- W. LOVELI. CO., Publishers, 

14 <& 16 Vesey Street, New 'York. 



GIDEON FLEYCE. 

By henry W. LUCY. 
1 vol. 12mo. Handsome Paper Covera. No. 96 of Lovell's Libkart. 20c. 

"When 'Gideon Fleyce' has been read, the janswer will be that Mr. 
Lucy has succeeded. Be has devised an excellent plo-t, and he has told it ad- 
mirably. It is partly political ; it is partly a love story, though that element 
has compamtively asiual) t^hare in it ; and it if a novel of incident. Mr. Lucy's 
comments upon political matters are delightful.'" — Scotsman. 

" This IS one of the cleverest novels we have read for a long time. The 
author is sure to take a high place among contemporary novelists, may perhaps 
some day prove his fitness to rank among the great masters of the craft.'"— 
Sheffield Independent. 

•'The novel has remarkable constructive excellence and striking situations. 
The flow of easy humour and the extraordinary perception of ihe ridiculous 
possessed by the aut or have here most facile display."— Daily News. 

'•A very clever novel, and full of promise as a first venture in fiction: a 
highly entertaining story, ' Gideon Fleyce ' is so much above the average of 
novels that the accession of its author— especially as the creator of '" Napper," 
to the rank of writers of fiction is deserving of a very heaity welcome."— 
Academy. 

" That is a powerful scene, and the whole of the sensational plot of which 
this scene is the central point, is managed with an ingenuity worthy almost of 
Wilkie Collins."— Spectator. 

" An excellent story, which has the double interest of an exciting plot 
with telling episodes and of very clever analysis of character."— Times. 

THE GOLDEN SHAFT. 

By CHA RLES GIBBON, Author of " Robin Gray," &c. 
1 vol. 12mo. Handsome Paper Covers. No. 57 of Lovell's Library. 20c. 

" Mr. Gibbon is to be congratulated on the character of 'Fiscal ' Musgravc, 
which is as original as it is lifelike, and as attractive as it is original. The 
situation which chiefly displays it is well imagined, powerfully worked out, 
and sufliciently siriking in itself."— Academy 

" Excellent in every important respect ; the story is interesting, the plot 
is most ingeniously devised, the characters are cleverly ccmceived and con- 
sistently drawn, while several of them stand out picturesquely m their quaint 

originality Altogether, we may certainly congratulate Mr. Gibbon on his 

book "—Saturday Review. 

" Mr. Gibbon is at his best in this story. It contains some really powerful 
situations, and its plot is well worked out. The conscientious difficulties of 
the Fiscal, the father of the charming herione. are well developed by Mr. 
Gibbon, and the story will be read with interest throughout.'"— Manchester 
Examiner 

" Altogether, the ' Golden Shaft ' is gooc--, and fully equals, if it does not im- 
[jrove upon, anything Mr. Gibbon has previously written."— Glasgow Herald. 

"It is pleasant to meet with a work by Mr. Gibbon that will remind his 
readers of the promise of his earliest efforts. The story of Thorburn and his 
family is full of power aaid pathos, as is the figure of the strong-natured 
Musgrave.'''' — ATHENJ:;crM. 

'• On the whole, we have seen nothing before of Mr. Gibbon's writing so 
good as this novel." — Daily News. 

For sale by all Newsdealers and Booksellers. The Trade supplied by The 
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JOHN W. LOVELIi CO., 

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:R,E)CE:isrTLir :pxjblish:eid. 



Attractive new editions of the following celebrated works of Sir Edward 
Balwer, Lord Lyttou, 

By LORD LYTTON» 

I vol., 12CQ0., large typy, go )d paper, well bound, cloth, gilt, $1.00; also in 
liOvell's Library haud^ouie paper cover. 20 cents. 

This work Is happily conceived and ably executed. It is flowing and grace- 
fcil in style and both piques and rewards the curiosity of the reader. 



THE COMING RACE; 

Or, THE NEW UTOPIA. 

By LORD LYTTON. 

1 vol., 12mo., large, clear type, goc:! paper, attractive cover, 10 cents. 

Without deciding on the comparative share of imagination and memory in 
the concoction of fhe work, we may pronounce it one of the most attractive 
books of the many interesting volumes of tliis popular author. 



A STRANGE STORY. 



By LORD LYTTON 



1 vol., 12mo , cloth, gilt, S^OO; also in Lioveil's Librar}', handsome cover, 
20 cents. 

The plot shov.'s discrirainatiou of judgment as well as force of expression, 
and ita vigor of conception and brilliancy of description makes it one of his 
most readable novels. 



THE HAUNTED HOUSE; 

Or, The House and the Brain, to which is added, Calderon, the 
Courtier. 

By LORD L.YTTON. 
1 vol.. 12mo., large type, good paper, handsome cover, 10 cents. 
Tbis is a weird imaginative creation of singular power showing intensity of 
conception and a knowledge of the remarkabl j effects of spiritual influences. 
Full Descriptive Catalogue sent on application. 

JOHN W. LOVELL CO., Publishers, 

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JUST PUBLISHED 



"BEYOND TWL SUNRISE:" 

Observations by Two Travelers. 

1 vol. 12mo, cloth, gilt, $!.(>*, 

1 Yol. 12mo, paper, -,50 

Also in LoyelFs Library, No. 1G9, - - - - .liO 



Thb .nbjects treated in !:ais volume, which is tlie pro- 
auction of two well known American writers, are Psychology, 
Clairvoyance and Theosophy, In the form of sketches they 
outline the philosophy of Psychology, and relate phenomena 
wholly outside of, and apart from S})iritualism, with which it 
isi associated in the poj)ular mind in this country. These tAVO 
wi'iters have much to say regarding Occultism and Theosoph-^ 
and, in a word, discuss the science of the soul in all its bear, 
ings. No more interesting book has ever appeared on these 
subjects. Much personal experience, which is always interest- 
ing, is given in its pages; and the authors who have choser 
to be anonymous, have had remarkable results in their stnd;^ 
of Spiritualism and Clairvoyancy, and are adepts in Psycho- 
logical researches. 

From all the varied avenues in which they have worked 
so perseveringly, tiiey have brought together a highly grati- 
fying mass of material. The volume is one in which agnostics, 
Dpiritualists, orthodox and scientific minds generally, will be 
deeply interested ; and it is written in so earnest and frank a 
spirit, and in language so clear and graceful, that " Beyond 
the Sunrise," will win a welcome in every household. It will 
fp-' A good cheer and inspiration wherever it is read. 

S'^nt free, by post, on receipt of price. 

JOHJT W. LOVELL CO., PulDlisliers, 

J 4 and IG Vesey Street, Neiv Tijrk* 



J. Fenimore Cooper's Masterpieces 



THE SPY. 



The Last of the Mohicans. 

1 vol., 12mo. Paper Covers, 50c. CI th. Gold and Black, $1 00. 



These books are unabridged, and printed on heavy white paper 
from large, new type. 

What Daniel Webster said of these Books: — "The enduring 
monuments of J. Fenimore Cooper are his works. While the love 
of country continues lo prevjii], his memory will exist in the hearts 
of the people. So truly i)airiotic and Ameri' an throughout, they 
should find a place in every American's library." 

W. H. Prescott, the great historian, said: — "In his produc- 
tions every Ameiican must take an honest pride." 

Another great historian, George Bancroft, writes: — "His 
surpassing abihty has made his own name and the names of the 
creations of his fancy ' household words' throughout the civilized 
world." 

Washington Irving left on record:— "Cooper emphriicaliy 
belongs to the nation. He has left a space in our literature which 
will not be easily supplied." 

Wm. C. Bryant, the poet and philosopher, says:— "He wrote for 
mankind at Jarge; hence it is that he has earned a fame wider than 
any author of modern times. The creations of his genius shall 
survive through centuries to come, and only perish with our 
language." 



JOHN W. LOVELL CO., Publishers, 

14 & 16 Vesey St., New York. 



"Dr. Newton has had given to him the spiritual 
sense of what people wanted, and this he has rev- 
erently, clearly and definitely furnished.'*— Boston 

Herald, March 17. 



THE RIGHT AND WRONG 

SES OF THE BIBLE. 



U 



By Rev R. Heber Ne^AT-ton. 



No, S3, " Lovell's Library," Paper Covers, 20 Cents; Alsc 
IN Cloth, Red Edges, 75 Cents. 



*' Dr. Newton has not separated his heart from his head in these 
Teligious studies, and has thus been preserved from the mistakes 
which a purely critical mind might have been led." — N- Y, Times, 
March 12. 

"Those who wish t. abuse Dr. Newton should do so before 
reading his lectures, as, after reading them, they may find it quite 
impossible to do so."— i\^. Y. Star, March 11. 

'*It IS impossible to read these sermons without high admiration 
of the author's courage ; of his honesty, his reverential spirit, his 
wide and careful reading, and his true conservatism."— J.wmca?s 
Literary Churchman. 

For sale by all Newsdealers and Booksellers. 

JOHN W, LOVELL CO., Rihlishers, 

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L 



OB- 



BUMBLEPUPPY? 



Ten Lectures addressed to Cliildren. 

By PEMBRIDGE. 

I vol., i2mo., cloth, limp, - - • .50 

Also in Loveir^ Library, No. 181, - - .10 



<< * Whist, or Bumblepuppy ? ' is one of the most enter- 
taining and at the same time one of the soundest books on 
whist ever written. Its drollery may blind some readers 
to the value of its advice; no man who knows anything 
about whist, however, will fail to read it with interest, 
and few will fail to read it with advantage. Upon the 
ordinary rules of whist, Pembridge supplies much 
sensible and thoroughly amusing comment. The best 
player in the world may gain from his observations, and a 
mediocre player can scarcely find a better counsellor. 
There is scarcely an opinion expressed with which we do 
not coincide." — London Sunday Times. 

''We have been rather lengthy in our remarks on this 
book, as it is the best attempt we have ever seen to shame 
very bad players into trying to improve, and also because 
it abounds with most sensible maxims, dressed up in a very 
amusing and palatable lorm." — London Field. 

JOHN W. LOVELL CO., 

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LOVELL'S LIBRxVRY ADVERTISER. 

VICE VERSA; 

Or, A LESSON TO FATHERS. 

By F. ANSTEY. 

J vol., 12mo., cloth gilt. Si 00; 1 vol., 12mo., paper, 50 cents; also in Loveil's 
Library, No. 30, 20 cents. 

EXTRACTS FROM NOTICES BY THE PRESS. 

THE SATURDAY TiKYIEW — " If there ever was a book made up from 
oeginning to end of lau<;hter, yet not a comic book, or a 'merry' book, or a 
book of joke?, or a book of pictures, or a jest book, or a tomfool book, but a 
perfectly sober and serious book, in the reading of which a sober man may 
laugh without shame from beginning to end, it is the book called 'Vice 
Versa: or, a Lesson to Fathers'. .. We close the book, recommending it 
very earnestly to all fathers, in the first instance, and their sons, nephews, 
uncles, and male cousins utxt." 

THE PALL MALL GAZETTE.— " 'Vice Versa' i? one of the most 
diverting books that we have read f©r many a day. It is equally calculated lo 
amuse the August idler, and to lieep up the spirits of those who stay in town 

and work, while others are holiday making The bf.ok is singularly well 

written, graphic, terse, and full of nerve. The sciioolboy conversations are 
to the life, and every scene is brislc and well considered. ' 

THE ATHEN^UM.— " The wliole story is told with delightful drollery 
and spirit, and there is not a dull page in the volume. It should be added that 
Mr.Austey writes well, and in a style admirably suited to his amusing subject.'' 

THE SPECTATOR.—' Mr. Anstev deserves the thanks of everybody for 
showing that there is still a little fun left in this world ... .It is long since we 

read anything more truly humorous We must admit that we have not 

laughed so heartily over' anything for some years baci as we have over this 
' Lesson for Father.'*.' " 

THE ACADEMY.—" It is certainly the best hook of its kind that has ap- 
peared for a long time, and in the way of provoking laughter by certain old- 
fashioned means, which do not involve satire or sarcasm, it has few rivals." 

THE WORLD.— •■ The idea of a father and sou exchanging their identity 
has suggested itself to nuiuy mnds before now. It is illuetrated in this book 

with surprising freshness, originality and force 1 he book is more than 

wildly comic and amusing ■. it is in parts exceedingly pathetic." 

THE COURT JOURNAL.— "The story is told with so much wit and 
gayety that we cannot be deceived in our impression of the future career of F. 
Aiistey being destined to attain the greatest success among the most popular 
authors of the day." 

VANITY FAIR —'The book is, in our opinion, the drollest work ever 
written in the Engii-sh language.' 

TRUTH.—" Mr Anstey has done an exceedingly difficult thing so admira- 
bly and artfully as to conceal its difficulties. Haven't for years read so irrtisist- 
ibly humorous a book." 

NEW YORK 

JOHI? W. LOVELL CO., 14 and 16 Vesey Street. 



"A GREAT WORK. 



?; 



LABOR and CAPITAL, 

— A— 

NEV/ MONETARY SYSTEM, 

By EDVv^ARD KELLOGG. 
Edited bt his Daughtkr, Mary Kellogg Putnam. 



1 Vol., 12mo., Handsome Paper Cover, No. Ill of Lovell's 
Library, 20 Cents. 



"Labor and Capital" is a remarkable book. It .shows tow and why 
Capitalisls get so lar^u a j. art of ihe yearly productions of labor, and why the 
producers get so small a part, 'i he tir:st edition of this work was published in 
1848, under the titie of '• Laoor and Other Capital; or, the ri-hts of each se- 
cured and the wrous^s of both eradicated." At that time (he publication of 
such a work by a ricu and prospeious merchant of New York created consider- 
able evcitement and disctis-ion among political economists. The author was 
a man of deep percepiiim, and, in the state of the country, he foresaw with 
clearness all that has tran-pi ed in our financial history, during the past thirty 
years. If tlie system elaborated by Mr. Kellogg had been fully, instead of 
partially, adopted by Congress, the various steps which have been taken m ihe 
application oi his theory would all have been antic pated. Mr. Keilogg be- 
lieved that the Government of the United States should issue all money or 
currency that should beallowei to go into circulation. The present Uinted 
States Treasury Note is a i)uitiai exemplification of this plan. The whole 
work has such an imporiant bearing upon the financial and political state of 
the country to day that the publishers are justified in issuing it in a cheap 
form, thus placing it within the reach of all who are interested in the indus- 
trial problem. • 

A Characteristic Letter From 

^ATENDZLL PHILLIPS, 

Boston, May 25th, 1883. 
Mr. John W Lovell, 

Dear Sir : — i am (am I ?) indebted to you for a copy of your reprint of 
"Labor and Capital," by Kellogg; one of the ablest and most couvmcing 
statements of tlie Financial Problem ever made; and proposing with unanswer- 
able argument, theeasie.--t, if not the only remedy for our troubles and dangers. 
1 am glad that the loving devotion and rare abiliiy of his daughter has made 
the work so perfect and clear in statement. She aeserves weii of the students 
of this question and has their gratitude. 

Yours respectfully. 

Wendell Phillips. 
For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent post paid on receipt of 
25 cents, by the pubiuhers, 

JOHN Vf. LOYELL COMPA^'Y^ 

14, cS: 16 Vesey Street. Ne^A^ York. 



HEALTH AND VIGOR 



FOR THE BRAIN AND NERVES, 



• o 




:^^ 



^^^«^#r 



o 

N bj 

si 

O {> 



CROSBY*S VITALIZED PHOS-PHITES. 



ill physicians who treat 
be taken as a Special 



This is a staiidard preparation with 
nervous and mental disorders. 

Crosby's Vitalized Fhos-phites should 
Brain JBood. 

To BUILD UP worn-out nerves, to banish sleeplessness, neu- 
ralgia and sick headache. — Br. Owynn, 

To PROMOTE good digestion. — Dr. Mlmore. 

To " STAMP OUT " consumption. — Dr. Churchill. 

To " coMPLETLT cure night sweats." — John B, Quigley. 

To MAINTAIN the capabilities of the brain and nerves to per- 
form idl functions even at the highest tension. — E. L. Kellogg. 

To RESTORE the energy lost by nervousness, debility, over- 
exertion or enervated vital powers. — Dr. W. 8. JVells. 

To REPAIR the nerves that have been enfeebled by worry, de- 
pression, anxiety or deep grief. — Miss Mary Ba?iki7v. 

To STRENGTHEN the intellect so that study and deep mental 
application may be a pleasure and not a trial. — B. M. Couch. 

To DEVELOP good teeth, glossy hair, clear skin, handsome nails 
in the young, so that they may be an inheritance in later years. — = 
Editor School Journal. 

'Yo ENLARGE the Capabilities for enjoyment. — National Journal 
of Education. 

To'* MAKE life a pleasure," **not a daily suffering'' '*I 
really urge you to put it to the test." — Miss Emily Faithfull. 

To AMPLIFY bodily and mental power to the present genera- 
tion and "'prove the survival of the fittest" to ^he next. — Bisma,rcTc. 

There is no other Vital Phos-phite., none that is exti*acted 
from living animal and vegetable tissues. ^ — Dr. Casper, 

To EESTOPvB lost p-iwers and abilities. — Dr. Bull, 

For sale by druggibts or mail, $1. 
P. CROSBY CO,, No. 56 West Twenty-nfth St., New York. 



LOVELL'S LIBRARY-CATALOGUE. 



185. Mysterious Island, Pt II. 15 
Mysterious Island, Pilll. 15 

186. Tom Brown at Oxford, 

2 Parts, each 15 

187. Thicker than Water.... 20 

188. In Silk Attire 20 

189. Scottish Chiefs, Part I.. 20 
Scottish Chiefs, Part 11.20 

190. Willy Reilly 20 

191. The Nautz Family 20 

192. Great Expectations 20 

193. Hist.of PendennisjPt I..20 
Hist. of Pendennis,Pt II 20 

194. Widow Bedott Papers ..20 

195. Daniel Deronda, Part I.. 20 
Daniel Deronda, Part II. 20 

196." Altiora Peto 20 

197. By the Gate of the Sea.. 15 

198. Tales of a Traveller 20 

199. Life and Voyages of Co- 

lumbus, 2 Parts, each. 20 

200. The Pilgrim's Progress.. 20 

201. MartinChuzzlewit,P'rt 1.20 
MartinChuzzlewit,P't II.20 

202. Theophrastus Such 10 

203 . Disarmed 15 

204. Eugene Aram 20 

205. The Spanish Gypsy, &C.20 

206. Cast up by the Sea 20 

207. Mill on the Floss, Part T.15 
Mill on the Floss, P't II. 15 

208. Brother Jacob, etc 10 

209. The Executor 20 

210. American Notes 15 

2n. The Newcomes, Part I.. 20 

The Newcomes, Part 1 1. 20 

212. The Privateersman 20 

213. The Three Feathers.. . .20 

214. Phantom Fortune 20 

215. The Red Eric 20 

216. Lady Silverdale's Sweet- 

heart ; 10 

217. The Four Macnicol's. ..10 
2i8.Mr.PisistratusBrown,M.P.io 

219. Dombeyand Son, Part 1. 20 
Dombeyand Son, Part II. 20 

220. Book of Snobs 10 

221. Fairy Tales, Illustrated. .20 

222. The Disowned 20 

223. Little Dorrit, Part 1 20 

Little Dorrit, Part II 20 

«24. Abbotsford and New- 
stead Abbey 10 

225. Oliver Goldsmith, Black 10 

226. The Fire Brigade 20 

227. Rifle and Hound in Cey- 
lon 20 

228. Our Mutual Friend,P't I.20 
OurMutualFriend.P't II. 20 

229. Paris Sketches 15 

230. Belinda 20 

231. Nicholas Nickleby,P't 1. 20 
NicholasNickleby.P't 11.20 

232. Monarch of Mincing 

Lane 20 

833. Eight Years' Wanderings 

in Ceylon 20 

234. Pictures from Italy r^; 

23 5- Adventures of Philip, Pt 1 . i s 
Adventures of Philip, Pt 1 1. 1 5 
236. Knickerbocker History 
of New York 20 



237. The Boy at Mugby 10 

238. The Virginians, Part I.. 20 
The Virginians, Part II. 20 

239. Erling the Bold 20 

240. Kenelm Chillingly 20 

241. Deep Down 20 

242. Samuel Brohl & Co 20 

243. Gautran 20 

244. Bleak House, Part I 20 

Bleak House, Part 1 1... 20 

245. What Will He Do With 

It ? 2 Parts, each 20 

246. Sketches of YoungCouples. 10 

247. De vereux 20 

248. Life of Webster, Part 1. 15 
Life of Webster, Pt. II. 15 

249. The Crayon Papers 20 

250. The Caxtons, Part I 15 

The Caxtons, Part 1 1... 15 

251. Autobiography of An- 

thony Trollope 20 

252. Critical Reviews, etc. ... lo 

253. Lucretia 20 

254. Peter the Whaler 20 

255. Last of the Barons. Pt I.15 
Last of the Barons, Pt. 1 1. 15 

256. Eastern Sketches 15 

257. All in a Garden Fair.... 20 

258. File No. 113 20 

259. The Parisians, Part I.. .20 
The Parisians, Part II.. 20 

260. Mrs. Darling's Letters. ..20 

261. Master Humphrey's 
Clock 10 

262. Fatal Boots, etc 10 

263. The Alhambra 15 

264. The Four Georges 10 

265. Plutarch's Lives, 5 Pts. $1. 

266. Under the Red Flag 10 

267. TheHaunted House, etc. 10 

268. When the Ship Comes 
Home 10 

269. One False, both Fair. ...20 

270. The Mudfog Papers, etc. 10 

271. My Novel, 3 Parts, each.20 

272. Conquest of Granada. ..20 

273. Sketches by Boz 20 

274. A Christmas Carol, etc.. 1 5 

275. lone Stewart 20 

276. Harold, 2 Parts, each. . . 15 

277. Dora Thome 20 

278. Maid of Athens 20 

279. Conquest of Spain 10 

280. Fitzboodle Papers, etc. . 10 

281. Bracebridge Hall 20 

282. Uncommercial Traveller.20 

283. Roundabout Papers 20 

284. Rossmoyne 20 

285. A Legend of the Rhine, 

etc 10 

286. Cox's Diary, etc 10 

287. Beyond Pardon 20 

288. Somebody'sLuggage,etc.io 

289. Godolphin 20 

290. Salmagundi 20 

2qi. Famous Funny Fellows. 20 

292. Irish Sketches, etc 20 

293. The Battle of Life, etc... 10 
2Q4. Pilgrims of the Rhine ...15 
2Q5. Random Shots 20 

296. Men's Wives 10 

297. Mystery of £dwin Drood«2o 



298. Reprinted Pieces 20 

299. Astoria ....20 

300. Novels by Eminent Hands 10 

301. Companions of Columbus2o 

302. No Thoroughfare 10 

303. Character Sketches, etc. 10 

304. Christmas Books.. 20 

305. A Tour on the Prairies... 10 

306. Ballads 15 

307. Yellowplush Papers 10 

308. Life of Mahomet, Part 1.15 
Life of Mahomet, Pt. 1 1 . 15 

309. Sketches and Travels in 

London 10 

310. Oliver Goldsmith,Irving.20 

3 1 1. Captain Bonneville .... 20 

312. Golden Girls... 20 

313. English Humorists 15 

3 14. Moorish Chronicles 10 

315. Winifred Power 20 

316. Great HoggartyDiamond 10 

317. Pausanias 15 

318. The New Abelard 20 

319. A Real Queen 20 

320. The Rose and the Rinr .20 

321. Wolfert's Roost and Mis- 

cellanies, by Irving'- • • 10 

322. Mark Seaworth 20 

323. Life of Paul Jones 20 

324. Round the World 20 

325. Elbow Room 20 

326. The Wizard's Son 25 

327. Harry Lorrequer 20 

328. Howit All Came Round. 20 

329. Dante Rosetti's Poems. 20 

330. The Canon's Ward 20 

331. Lucile, by O. Meredith. 20 

332. Every Day Cook Book.. 20 

333. Lays of Ancient Rome. . 20 

334. Life of Burns 20 

335- The Young Foresters.. .20 

336. John Bull andHis Island 20 

337. Salt Water, by Kingston. 20 

338. The Midshipman 20 

339. Proctor's Poems 20 

340. Clayton's Rangers 20 

341. 3chiller's Poems '20 

342. Goethe's Faust 20 

343. Goethe's Poems 20 

344. Life of Thackeray ..10 

345. Dante's Vision of Hell, 
Purgatory and Paradise.. 20 

346. An Interesting Case 20 

347. Life of Byron, Nichol. . . 10 

348. Life of Bunyan 10 

349. Valerie's Fate 10 

350. Grandfather Lickfhingle. 20 

351. Lays of the Scottish Ca- 

valiers 20 

352. Willis' Poems 20 

353. Tales of the French Re- 

volution IS 

354. Loom and Lugger ... ...20 

355. More Leaves from a Life 

in the Highlands 15 

356. Hygiene of the Brain. ,.25 

357. Berkeley the Banker 20 

358. Homes Abroad 15 

359. Scott's Lady of the Lake, 

with notes.. 20 

360. Modem Christianity a 
civilized Heathenism. . ..j' 



THE CELEBRATED 



SOEMER 



Grand, Square and Upright 




PIANOFORTES. 

The demands now made by an educated musici.l public are bo exacting that very few 
Pianoforte Manufacturers can produce Instruments that will stand the test which merit 
requires. SOHMER & CO., as Manufacturers, rank amongst these chosen few, who are 
acknowledged to be makers of standard instruments. In these days, when Manufacturers 
urge the low price of their wares rather ':han their superior quality as an inducement to 
purchase, it may not be amiss to suggest that, in a Piano, quality and price are too in- 
sepirably joined to expect the one without the other. 

Every Pianc ought to be judged as to the quality of its tone, its touch, and its work- 
manship; if any orne of these is wanting in excellence, however good the others may be, 
the instrnmeijr will be imperfect. R is the combination of these qualities in the highest 
degree that <■ nnstitutes the perfect Piano, and it is this combination that has given the 
" SOHMER'' .ts honorable position with the trade and the public. 

Received First Prize Centennial Exliibition, Philadelphia, 1876. 
Received First Prize at Exhibition, Montreal, Canada, 1881 & 1882. 

SOHMER & CO., Manufacturers, 

149-155 E. 14tli St., New York. 



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